Runnin'
by Kai-Rhiannon
Summary: What if one Slayer had a secret that could save Dean? What if Dawn wasn't the only Key? Will the boys be prepared to face the ultimate evil? Can a person run from destiny? (Takes place after season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer & right after season 9 of Supernatural.) Rated T for violence, mild sex, & language. [Dean, OC] [Faith, Robin] [Willow, Charlie] [Sam, Dawn]
1. Prologue

**What if one of our favorite slayers had a secret? Could that secret be the key to Dean's salvation? (Takes place after season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the comics never happened. Takes place right after the end of season 9 of Supernatural.)**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural (but God, I wish I did)! I only own Erin and the plot of this story.**

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**Prologue**

_Robin looked over at his girlfriend-though he'd never call her that out loud-in the seat next to him. The slayer had her usual stone-face on. The ex-principal smirked. Although Faith hid it well, he knew that she had never been a fan of flying. Come to think of it, most of the slayers he knew weren't. The slayer sensed his eyes on her and turned her gaze to meet his, one dark eyebrow raised._

_"What?" she asked, feeling wigged out by the obvious affection in Robin's stare. She still wasn't used to going steady with someone and it made her uncomfortable._

_"Nothing. I was just wondering what's on your mind," Robin answered. He paused. "Could it be the reason we're flying to Boston all of sudden?" he said, his tone amused. Faith fidgeted in her seat, cracking her knuckles._

_"Maybe."_

_Robin frowned a bit. He wanted to move closer to her, to make her forget whatever was troubling her, but he knew by now not to push. He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes; they still had a couple hours left before they reached Massachusetts._

_Faith sighed. How was she supposed to tell Robin the truth? How could she explain to him the secret she left behind when she was called to be a slayer? Well...she'd find out soon enough._


	2. Renegade

**There are a few different directions I can see this story going, but I'm not sure which ones to choose. What would you guys like to see happen? Let me know in reviews!**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but God I wish I did! I only own Erin and this plot line. I also do not own the song for which this story was named for—Runnin' by Adam Lambert. The song was rumored to have a cover by Jensen Ackles, but was really just a doctored version of the original, which is quite good and now has a home on my iPod. Admittedly, I like to pretend it's Jensen. **

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**Chapter 1: Renegade**

_Los Angeles, 1998_

The sound of bare feet slapping the pavement and labored breathing thundered in her sensitive ears. She barely even noticed the usual sounds of city life around her as she ran from the alley. She didn't care where she went, as long as it was _away_. When she had run a few blocks, she stopped to take a breath and compose herself. She stayed to the shadows as she looked around. Everything was bright and loud—completely the opposite of what she was used to.

Normally, the demons didn't take children as slaves. What could children possibly be good for? There was a short time, however, when they'd decided to experiment; they thought it might be easier to break people at a younger age.

That's how Erin ended up a slave. The demons had been collecting children under the guise of an orphanage. When children were about four or five they were taken to another dimension to be slaves. A man named Ken would come around asking about any "lost" or "unruly" children, claiming to work for a place that helped troubled youngsters. After that, the children were taken to a secluded building with only one room, which contained a pool of dark water in the middle of the floor. They would be dressed in white sack-like clothes and pushed into the pool, falling into a demon dimension.

Erin was taken shortly after her fifth birthday. She had no idea what month it was, only that she had been a slave for _**thirteen**_ long years. Everything she knew was left behind in that place; left behind when the mysterious blonde girl—Buffy, she thought she'd heard her call herself—came in today and rescued everyone.

Erin shivered in the night air. The slave clothes weren't very warm. It occurred to her that she didn't even know what she looked like; her hair was long, dark red-brown and her skin was pale, but those were the only things she could see.

_Catherine. My name is Catherine._ That one thought repeated itself in her mind over and over. She had held onto it for thirteen years; she had refused to forget who she was.

At first, when the demons asked her who she was, she would respond with her name. Even after she knew they would beat her for the response, she'd still responded with her name. Erin had learned, however, that if she were to ever make it out alive that she would need to seem compliant. She had marked every day that passed on the wall of her cell with a tally and she repeated her name to herself constantly, until it was nearly the only thought she had left.

Erin looked around again, though she wasn't sure what she was looking for. She had nowhere to go. Hell, she didn't even know where she should _try_ to go. How much had the world changed since she'd been gone? Living in darkness for so long had given her sensitive eyes and the synthetic lighting of the city was already giving her a headache. Rubbing her temples, she decided that the only thing she could do was walk until she found something…anything.

So she did. She walked aimlessly until she ran into a young woman. Not having any real concept of age, Erin could only guess at how old this lady was, but she looked about the same age as the blonde rescuer.

"Oh my God! Are you okay? Do you need some help?" the stranger asked frantically, visibly upset by Erin's appearance.

Erin tilted her head to the side and appraised her. The woman was a small thing, not very muscular, and looked to be similar in size to Erin herself. Without so much as a thought, she rammed the girl's head into the wall of the building next to them, knocking her out cold. She leaned down and listened. Satisfied when she heard a heartbeat, Erin got to work dragging her into the nearest alley.

She stripped the girl of her outer clothes, discarding her slave sack and putting them on. The clothes were too tight around the hips, upper arms, and chest, but it would do until Erin could find something better. She slid on the shoes—sandals of some kind—and was thankful that they fit decently. She picked up a little square thing that had fallen out of the girl's pocket. It felt leathery and unfolded to reveal a picture of the girl with a name on it and other information that Erin didn't understand. In another fold of the square was something she _did_ recognize: money. She had seen it before she'd been taken. Surprisingly, this stranger seemed to have a lot of it. She pocketed the money and left the leather square and the rest of its contents with its owner.

Erin exited the alley and starting walking towards the busier parts of the city. With money, she could buy food, and maybe some clothes that fit. It should be easy to figure out, right?

_I guess I'll find out._


	3. Never Surrender

**Sorry it's taken so long for me to update, I was trying to get caught up on Supernatural before the new season started.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything Supernatural or Buffy related. I just own Erin and this story.**

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Chapter 2: Never Surrender

Book after book, journal after journal, one cup of coffee after another, Sam poured everything he had into finding Dean. His eyes stung with exhaustion and his hands shook from the amount of caffeine in his system, but he couldn't stop. He _wouldn't_ stop. He kept going back to the day his brother died. He had left Dean's body alone so he could summon Crowley, but the king of Hell never answered. When Sam returned to check on his brother—still hoping to find him alive, by some miracle—his body was gone. The only thing left was a blood stain on the bed, from the exit wound in Dean's back where Metatron had stabbed him with an angel blade, and a note that appeared to be in Dean's handwriting.

_Let me go, Sammy,_ was all the note said. Sam didn't understand, but he knew Dean's disappearance had something to do with Crowley. He had been right.

Weeks after his brother's disappearance, the younger Winchester followed a lead on a John Doe, which led him to a gas station where the aforementioned man was murdered. Or so it had seemed. After watching the security camera at least a dozen times, it was evident that the mystery man had pulled a knife on another customer in the gas station; that customer turned out to be his brother. When Dean defended himself against his assailant he kept beating him until the man was dead, but it wasn't until Dean looked into the security camera that Sam felt his stomach churn. His brother's eyes were _solid black_.

Sam returned to the bunker, covered in a cold sweat and feeling as if he was going to vomit at any time. His brother…a demon? Sam was still in shock, but part of him was angry…so very angry. Whatever had happened, he knew that Crowley was responsible for what had become of Dean. What other explanation could there be? Clearly, the mark of Cain and the First Blade had something to do with it, but all that would not have been an issue if Crowley had not led Dean to Cain in the first place.

Sam stumbled to the table, where he had previously been doing research, and grasped the edges of it to steady himself. His knuckles were white and he couldn't see through the hot tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. Angrily, he brushed the tears away and let his fist land loudly on the table. He needed to compose himself; Castiel was on his way to the bunker, with an angel named Hannah in tow, so they could figure out a game plan. Right now, however, he was all alone.

He glanced around the main room of the bunker, memories flooding his mind as he did so. He remembered how excited Dean had been when they'd first moved in. He loved having his own bedroom as well as a fully working kitchen. Sam would often catch him goofing off with the weapons that were on display in the library room. In those first days in the bunker, Dean seemed like himself again; like all the horrible things they had been through never happened. It reminded Sam just how much of a kid his older brother really was on the inside.

The memories tore him apart. Sam growled and swung his arm out, knocking several books, as well as a coffee cup, to the floor in a heap. He sank to the floor, panting and shaking. Absently, he looked over to the pile of books and journals at his side. That's when he saw something that caught his eye, something he'd overlooked in his previous searching. He grabbed the open journal and looked at the pages it was open to. The writing wasn't as old fashioned as the other journals and the cover wasn't as aged. Sam's brow furrowed as he flipped to the front of the journal to see who it had belonged to. His breath hitched in his throat for a moment when he found it—the clumsy signature of Kevin Tran, written in blue pen.

Sam took a deep breath and went back to the pages he'd been looking at. Apparently, the angel tablet had mentioned something about a "saviour of the damned". When Kevin researched it—God only knew where and how—he had discovered an old prophecy. It spoke of a key to the doors of Hell that, when activated, would seal the doors forever. It wasn't perfect; unlike the trials, it couldn't send demons on earth back to Hell, it could only seal in those who were already there. Regardless, it would be a start to ending the scourge of demons. As Sam read on, it seemed that the prophecy hinted that the saviour and the key were connected somehow, but it was all very vague. Kevin had written down a summoning spell to bring the saviour—or maybe it was the key—to them, but some of the ingredients would not be easy to get.

"'_Blood of the ruler of fallen humanity…a Cerberus fang…the three iron nails used in the crucifixion…rose thorns…and something belonging to the righteous man who shed blood in hell_.' So that's all?" Sam muttered sarcastically as he read off the ingredients for the spell. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Castiel's number.

"Sam?" the angel answered, concern in his gravelly voice.

"Yeah, Cas. I need you to pick up a few things on your way here," Sam responded.

"What kind of things?" Castiel asked, his voice quizzical.

"Ingredients for a summoning ritual. I have a lead that may be able to help us save Dean."


	4. Touch of the Younger Kind

**Thank you all for your reviews! The more reviews, the better! I have a couple directions I'm thinking of for the story, but I'm not sure which I'm going to choose. Both of them are about Erin. Let me know what you're interested in seeing in your reviews! If you're interested to know what Erin looks like, you can see her in my deviantart gallery. Just look under my profile for the link. In case you haven't picked up on it, the titles of chapters are song titles and/or lyrics. I'll eventually list the songs with the artists.**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related, but I'd love to own Dean! ;)**

**Warning: This chapter contains very depressing material involving a very real issue that still exists today.**

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**Chapter 3: Touch of the Younger Kind**

From the airport Faith and Robin took a rent-a-car to their destination. Faith drove and Robin wondered where they were going, though he knew better than to press the matter. She would tell him when she was ready; bothering her only made her retreat into herself more. It was clear that Faith was dreading something as she kept thinking of ways to prolong their trip. They stopped at Atlantic Fish Company for a late lunch and then continued on their way. It was taking them quite a while to get wherever they were going because the slayer kept stopping to use the bathroom, though her boyfriend suspected she using that as an excuse to be alone or stall. Robin was exhausted from the flight, but he stayed awake to see where exactly the slayer was taking him.

Finally, they made it from Worcester to Boston. When Faith stopped to fill the car with gas, though it didn't really need it yet, Robin got out to stretch his legs. He was waiting patiently by the car when he overheard Faith talking to a local man. She was asking for directions, judging by the way the man was gesturing, but the only word Robin could make out sounded like "orphanage". His brow furrowed quizzically as Faith walked back to the car. She caught him staring at her and raised a dark eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"Do you want to tell me why we're going to an orphanage?" Robin asked, being straightforward. Faith paled a bit, but didn't respond. "Did Willow track the location of another slayer here?"

Faith sighed. "You weren't supposed to hear that. I wanted to tell you myself."

"Tell me what?"

Faith pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. This was a good time for a smoke. She took a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket, retrieved one from the pack, took out her zippo lighter and lit it, then put the pack back in her pocket. She took a long drag from the cigarette, then exhaled slowly. Finally, she spoke.

"I've never told you much about my past. Actually, I've never told anyone much about my past. It's not pretty and I prefer to leave it where it is," she paused for a moment, taking another drag from the cigarette. Robin listened and waited patiently.

"Both of my parents were alcoholics. My father was, apparently, imprisoned for murder when I was four, so for years I thought he was dead. I don't remember much of him from back then—only the things that came after he left. I'd like to think he would've prevented those things from happening, but I'll never really know." Faith paused again for her cigarette and Robin remained silent, though listening to every word.

"Not long after my dad was gone, my mom got involved with a druggie—I've blocked out his name for years; now I don't even remember it. He abused me while my mom passed out from drinking, but he was smart enough to avoid leaving marks on me. I thought he did that so no one at school would believe me if I tried to tell them, but his reasons were much more…_sinister_. … It started when I was five.

"One night, he dragged me into the living room where a bunch of creepy men paid him to let me sit on their laps. It made me very uncomfortable, but I didn't protest because I knew I'd get beat for it."

By now, Robin's look of intent listening became one of appalled understanding. He knew what was going to come next. He'd even seen the signs of it on kids a couple of times in his years as a principle.

"That was only the beginning. It went on like that for a few years. My mom was on board with it. She advertised me online with a webcam. I was known as a 'Snow White' in the sex trafficking circuit—that's what they call fair-skinned, dark-haired girls. When I got older, men started paying my mom and her boyfriend to have 'private sessions' with me. I'm not gonna sugar coat it for you, Robin—it means _exactly_ what you think it means. In the child prostitution world, the goal of the parents is to sell the child before they're too old. It usually ends in an arranged marriage. If you have any delusions of me escaping and going to the authorities, you can get rid of them now. It doesn't happen."

"So how _did_ you get out?" Robin asked quietly, still in shock.

"I'm getting to that. Anyway, this went on until I was twelve—that's when I 'became a woman' as they say. Business slowed down a bit because I was getting too old, but it was still there. Why'd it stop? Because I got knocked up. My mom's boyfriend beat me black and blue for the first time ever when he found out. I was damaged goods. No one wanted to rent me anymore and the chances of getting me in an arranged marriage were lowered significantly. I wasn't taken to the doctor because my parents were afraid of people finding out who might actually do something about my situation.

"So for months, I was abused so that I might have a miscarriage. I didn't, but I did end up going into labor during my seventh month. I wasn't taken to the hospital; my parents enlisted the help of someone who acted as a 'midwife' of sorts for these types of situations." Faith paused to take a drag from her cigarette, but quickly turned around when she felt tears threatening to escape her eyes.

"I never even got to hold my baby. The midwife took her away before I had the chance. I was told that it would be left at an orphanage. I didn't get away from my mother and her boyfriend until I was called to be a slayer. My watcher…Diana…she took me away from all that. …" Faith trailed off, her heart aching at the thought of her watcher—the only real mother she'd ever had.

The slayer jumped a bit when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, surprised to see that Robin had come so close to her. He looked down at her and rubbed away an errant tear on her cheek with his thumb. Faith looked down awkwardly, flicking some ash from her cigarette.

"Your watcher…she died?" Robin asked softly. Faith nodded, sniffing a bit.

"I'm surprised you don't know already. I thought everyone in the slaying world knew about the time the vampire Kakistos slaughtered Diana Dormer," the slayer answered, her tone bitter. Robin looked taken aback.

"Where is he—Kakistos—now?" he asked.

"Dust. I staked him with a two-by-four. Voila. The end."

Both of them stood still for moment, never saying a word. Faith had never told anybody about her abuse or her pregnancy until now. It was the most honest she had ever been with anyone. Finally, Robin pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She lost it. Faith never really cried, but now she was bawling. She sobbed into his shirt until she ran out of tears. Robin said nothing; he held her and ran his fingers through her hair until she stopped crying. He pulled back to look at her and gently wiped the tears off her face. Faith looked embarrassed.

"So…didn't plan on that…"she mumbled. Robin allowed himself a small smile.

"Look at me," he said, tilting the slayer's face up to meet his gaze. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. I love that you've been so honest with me." Robin paused. "I love _you_, Faith." Faith's eyes widened a bit and her cheeks turned red. She looked down, fidgeting, then looked back up at him.

"Ditto." Robin smiled. He knew what she meant and he was happy to hear it. He wasn't going to push her to say "I love you". He kissed her softly and hugged her tightly.

"I swear, Faith, I will never let you go through hell again," he said. Faith snorted derisively.

"Going through hell is kind of in the job description."

Robin chuckled at her. He stepped back and ran a hand over his face. Faith flicked her cigarette onto the pavement and stomped it out with her boot.

"Come on, let's go find that orphanage. It's time for you to meet your baby," Robin said, opening the car door for his girlfriend.

Faith wrinkled her nose at his show of chivalry, but said nothing and got into the car. Robin went around to the other side and got in. As Faith started the car and pulled out of the gas station, Robin couldn't stop looking at her. He finally had a deeper understanding of the woman he loved so much and now, he was about to learn even more.


	5. Strange Magic

**Thank you for the reviews guys! Okay, so here are the songs I've used so far for the names of chapters:**

**Renegade by Styx**

**Never Surrender by Skillet**

**Lyrics from My Sharona by The Knack**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related. I only own Erin and this story.**

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**Chapter 4: Strange Magic**

When Castiel arrived at the bunker he looked like he'd been run over by a semi. Hannah was not with him. Sam raised an eyebrow at the state of his angelic friend.

"Jeez, Cas, what happened to you?" he asked, stepping aside to let the angel in.

"I got the ingredients," Castiel replied, holding up a burlap sack. Sam took the sack from him.

"What happened?" he asked again. Cas gave him a deadpan stare

"Have you ever tried to take a fang from _the_ Cerberus, Sam?" he asked dryly.

"No," Sam answered slowly.

"Don't." Castiel turned and started to make his way downstairs into the main room of the bunker.

Sam shuddered at the thought of Castiel fighting the Cerberus and followed him down the stairs. He set the bag of ingredients on the table and untied it, looking through its contents.

He pulled out the rose thorns first. They were the biggest rose thorns Sam had ever seen and they had been braided into a circle, presumably by Castiel. Careful not to get pricked by the thorns, Sam set them aside and took out the next object. It was three iron nails, tied together with a piece of twine. Sam gulped a bit. The nails were seven inches long _each_ and though they were rusted and gnarled he could still see the bloodstains on the iron. He looked up at Castiel, holding up the nails.

"These are _the_ crucifixion nails?" he asked.

"Of course," Castiel answered.

"How did you find them?" Sam asked, scrutinizing the detail of the nails. The idea of having one hammered into his wrist made him cringe.

"It wasn't difficult. All the angels know the location of the holy tomb of Jesus," Castiel replied, as though it was something everyone should know. Sam nodded, unsurprised by the angel's answer.

He reached in to grab the Cerberus fang. When his hand touched it, his eyes widened—it was much bigger than he'd imagined. Sam pulled the fang out of the bag, surprised to see that it was as big as the First Blade. He suddenly felt guilty for asking Castiel to retrieve such a thing.

"How do we get Crowley's blood? He's not likely to hand it over willingly," Castiel pointed out.

"Not to worry," the younger Winchester said. "When Dean and I held him prisoner here I extracted some of his blood and put it in a safe place. Never know when you're gonna need blood from the king of Hell."

"Excellent foresight on your part, Sam. Now I assume you have something of Dean's?" Castiel asked. Sam's brow furrowed quizzically.

"Why would we need something of Dean's?" Castiel stared at him like he'd just said two plus two was five.

"The spell called for something belonging to the righteous man who shed blood in Hell, yes?"

"Well yeah."

"Your brother _is_ that man, remember? He was a righteous man who shed blood in Hell, thereby breaking the first seal and giving Lilith a chance to start the apocalypse. We need something personal of his," the angel reminded. Sam nodded, his mind going back to the year when Dean came back from Hell. Oddly enough, things were simpler back then.

"I'll go get the rest of the ingredients," Sam mumbled, leaving Castiel alone for the moment. The angel looked around the room. The entire bunker felt wrong without Dean there.

Sam retrieved the vial of Crowley's blood, then made his way to Dean's room to search for something personal enough to use for the spell. When he arrived at his brother's bedroom he stood in the doorway, at a loss for what to look for. There were several knives and wooden stakes on the shelf above the bed, but nothing Dean cherished or kept on him all the time. Sam's eyes flickered around the room, finally landing on something crumpled next to his brother's bed. He tilted his head to the side and crossed the room to the crumpled object. It was a shirt. He picked it up and unrumpled it. His heart ached when he realized it was the shirt Dean had been wearing when he died, covered in a large bloodstain. Surely, this would do for the spell.

Sam returned to Castiel with the shirt and the vial of blood, his visage somber. Castiel looked at him questioningly, but when he saw the blood on the shirt he didn't need to ask what was wrong.

"Shall we get on with it then?" Castiel asked quietly. Sam nodded.

"Nothing like a summoning ritual before breakfast to start the day off with a bang."

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The spell seemed simple enough; paint the symbol of Hades on the floor, place a sacrificial bowl in the middle containing the ingredients, light the ingredients on fire with a smudge stick made of dried narcissus flowers while saying the—poorly translated—incantation.

Sam went to the store room—the one that hid the dungeon—and looked through the ingredients that were in stock. Thankfully, dried narcissus flowers were one of the many things they had. He fashioned the flowers into a crude smudge stick and returned to the main room where Castiel had already painted the symbol of Hades on the floor in his blood.

"Why'd you use your blood?" Sam asked, placing the ingredients in a bowl. Castiel shrugged.

"It was the only thing I had on hand."

"Well, maybe blood of a fallen angel will add more power to the spell," Sam said optimistically, lighting the smudge stick on fire with his lighter. He placed the bowl of ingredients on the symbol and waved the smoking smudge stick over it as he chanted.

"_Salvatorem animarum iactura, clavis inferni ianua, et ostende te ad me._"

When the last word was spoken, Sam dropped the smudge stick into the bowl, effectively lighting the ingredients on fire.

The two men waited patiently for something to happen, getting more anxious as the ingredients burned and nothing appeared. The ingredients burned to ash and when the last bit of flame turned to heavy, sweet smoke, something began to happen. Without build up or warning, there was a noise akin to the sound of strong wind blowing open a door. There was a quick flash of blue light and then the tower of smoke began to clear. As it did, Sam and Castiel were able to make out a small figure standing in the midst of the smoke. Finally, the haze cleared enough for them to see—both men froze, their eyes wide with surprise, their cheeks slowly turning pink with embarrassment.

There, standing where the bowl of ingredients had been, was a naked woman, dripping wet from head to toe, and shivering. If it was possible to look enraged and shocked at the same time, this woman was doing it quite nicely. Sam and Castiel stood staring with their mouths gaping. The girl was quite short—barely over five feet it looked like—and very fair skinned. She had one arm crossed over her chest and the other hand over her crotch. She wasn't slender, but was definitely in good shape, as if she'd spent years working to achieve a strong and healthy physique. She had her bellybutton pierced and a tattoo of daffodils tumbling down her right hip and thigh. On the left side of her ribcage, just under her breast, Sam spotted the familiar anti-demon-possession tattoo. The girl—woman was more like it, but it was hard to tell exactly how old she was—had rose-red hair that fell in layers over shoulders and striking grey eyes set in an ovaline face that Sam found oddly pleasant. Her nose was dainty, her eyes sharp, and her lips were full and looked rather soft. What really caught the attention of her summoners were the scars of various shapes, sizes, and colors that littered her body.

Judging by her appearance, they had summoned her in the middle of a shower. Soapy water trickled down her body and pooled on the floor, filling the room with the scent of sandalwood and violets. Sam and Castiel were snapped out of their daze when she spoke.

"What the _hell_ is going on!?"

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Sam and Castiel waited in the main room while the woman, whose name was Erin, went to the bathroom to rinse off the remaining soap. They were both relieved that they had managed to convince her that they weren't going to hurt her.

Initially, they had believed her to be unarmed, but when Sam took a step toward her for the first time, she revealed a necklace around her neck that concealed a small knife. It wasn't much, but she wielded it like she knew how to use it, suddenly forgetting about her nakedness. Sam was caught off guard by the sudden view of her body uncovered, giving her an opening to lunge at him, stabbing at him with her knife. She managed to get in a cut to Sam's right cheekbone before Castiel had pulled her off of him, pinning her arms.

He didn't have hold of her long before she swung her head back and hit him in the nose with her skull and danced out of his grasp. She had sprinted across the room, over a table, and grabbed two swords that were on display, unsheathing them and taking a defensive stance. The boys had no choice but to raise their arms in surrender and keep their distance while they explained how—and why—they had summoned her from the shower in her motel room. They splashed themselves with holy water and cut their palms with silver knives to prove to her that they were human—or at least not werewolves, demons, or shape-shifters. Erin was still a bit skeptical, but relaxed her stance.

"I'll tell you what, you guys point me to some clothes and a shower and we can talk after I'm rinsed and dressed," she had said in an authoritative tone.

"O-of course," Sam replied, directing her to the closest bathroom. "Castiel, would you retrieve some clothes for her, please?" The angel nodded, still clutching his bleeding nose, and left to find some clothes for her.

Erin had locked the bathroom door, so Castiel simply left the clothes on the floor right outside, so she wouldn't miss them when she opened it.

All that had happened about ten minutes ago.

Sam was flipping through Kevin's journal, sipping from a cup of fresh coffee and trying to ignore the itching of the butterfly closures on the cut on his cheek. Castiel sat next to him, wads of tissues shoved up each nostril, trying very hard to forget Erin's naked body. His ears turned red at the thought.

As Sam read through the journal it became more and more apparent that Kevin's research on the saviour and the key had been rather fruitless. He pursed his lips and put the journal off to the side, opting for research on the internet instead. He pulled his laptop closer and opened it, waiting a moment for it to wake up before typing 'key to hell' into a search engine. The results lead him to various pictures and Bible verses, but nothing that spoke of a "saviour of the damned" or sealing the doors shut. Sam leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face.

"Maybe I should take over the research, Sam. You appear tired," Castiel said, his voice sounding funny due to the tissues in his nose.

"Have at it. I honestly don't know what to look for anymore. It seems that no one has ever heard of this mystical key or saviour," Sam replied, his voice tired and frustration. Suddenly, a thought came to the angel, causing him to perk up in his seat a bit.

"I might know where to start. Fourteen years ago, another key to another dimension was being hunted down by a goddess called Glorificus and an order called the Knights of Byzantium. If I remember correctly, the key could open a hell-like dimension, but at a price—it would destroy this world in the process. Glorificus, a most fearsome hell goddess, wished to use the key to return to her own dimension, while the Knights of Byzantium wished to destroy it in order to keep it from being used."

"What happened?" Sam asked, suddenly very interested.

"In order to protect the key from the knights and the goddess a group of monks called the Order of Dagon transformed it into a human. Specifically, the little sister of the Slayer. They knew it was the Key's best chance to be protected," Castiel explained.

"Wait. What's 'the Slayer'?" Sam asked, looking confused. Castiel stared at Sam with an "oh you poor idiot" face.

"You mean to tell me that you've spent your whole life hunting monsters and you've never once heard of the Slayer?"

"Just the band," Sam responded. Castiel put his head in his hands for a moment, then sighed.

"After Lilith, the first demon, and Eve, the mother of monsters, came into being the world was plagued by creatures of darkness. A group of men set out to stop this plague, but were too weak and cowardly to do it themselves. Instead, they found a human girl and they chained her to the earth and imbued her with the pure essence of a demon, giving her the strength and power to hunt and kill evil beings.

"And so began the line of the Slayer. _'Into every generation, there is a chosen one. One girl in all the world. She alone will wield the strength and skill to stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. She is the Slayer.'_ Every time one slayer dies, the next one is immediately activated. There are girls running around, potential slayers, who could become a slayer at any given moment should the current one die. There is no age restriction. The men who created the first slayer became the Watchers—those tasked with the job of training the slayers."

"Well if that's true, why have Dean and I never heard of them?" Sam asked, confused.

"Slayers prefer to do things a bit more inconspicuously. They're also much more commonplace now. Several years ago, a powerful witch used an ancient slayer's weapon to break the rules. No longer is there one slayer at a time; any girl who could become a slayer _is_ a slayer," the angel explained.

Sam nodded, trying to process all the new information. He couldn't help but wonder why he and his brother were fighting so hard to protect people, when there were slayers around to do, but he pushed this thought to the back of his mind for later.

"So, do you think the same monks who protected the _other_ key will know something about _this_ key?" he asked. Castiel shook his head.

"All the monks were killed by Glorificus, but the places they used to hide may contain information about the keys, which may lead us to information about this supposed saviour. I'll go look for them at once." With that, Castiel stood up and headed toward the stairs.

"Wait, Cas!" Sam called, standing up. The angel turned to look at him.

"Be careful out there," the younger Winchester said. Castiel nodded and then disappeared up the stairs and out of the bunker.

Sam turned around and saw Erin standing in one of the doorways, leaning against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed. He felt an ache in his chest when he realized whose clothes she was wearing. Apparently, Castiel had supplied her with one of Dean's button-up shirts and a pair of his boxers as well. Sam couldn't help but think about how delighted his brother would've been to see a wet woman wearing his clothes. He shook away the thought and gestured to a seat at the table.

"Care to sit down?"

Erin eyed him warily, but came and sat nevertheless, curling up in the seat next to him. She never took her eyes off of him. He couldn't blame her.

"Alright, start talking," she demanded. Sam scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"What would you like to know?" he asked.

"Start with the basics: who you are, where we are, and why you summoned me here," Erin answered. Sam sighed. This was going to be a long conversation.


	6. Nobody's Home

**I love reviews! The more reviews I get, the more eager I am to post another chapter! The song I used for the name of last chapter was "Strange Magic" by Darren Hayes.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related. Dean is only mine in my dreams. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Nobody's Home**

Sam had been right when he thought the conversation between Erin and him was going to be a long one. She demanded that he tell her everything about him and Castiel. That, all by itself, led to the explanation of many other things. By the time he was done speaking, he had basically told Erin his entire life story as well as what he knew of Dean's. Erin nodded as she listened, looking surprised at some points, facepalming at others, and shaking her head sadly the rest of the time.

"So that's it. I don't know what else I can tell you," Sam finished. Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

"'That's it'? That's gotta be the understatement of the twenty-first century. Your story makes my life look like a cake walk," she replied, shaking her head. Sam leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.

"Speaking of your life, I think it's _your_ turn to talk about your life story," he said.

"You're right. Well, let's see now…" she leaned back in her chair and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I was born in nineteen-ninety-three. I don't remember very much of my life before I was taken. All I know is that the nuns that found me named me after Saint Catherine of Alexandria. I think Saint Jude would have been more appropriate. When they found me, apparently I was only a few hours old, according to what the doctor that checked me out said. So that's the date they put on my birth certificate. I think I was found in Boston, but I can't remember what the nuns told me.

"I spent the first four years of my life going from one foster home to another before ending up at a shady orphanage in LA. Nothing much to talk about after that until I turned five. Shortly after that, a man named Ken took me to an abandoned building to be 'cleansed'. Turns out, he was a demon who stole people from this world to make them slaves in another dimension where time passes differently.

"Once people are too old to work, they're spat back into this world; it's iffy _when_ exactly they'll turn up. I could have ended up in a completely different century. This was the first time they decided to steal children, hoping they'd be easier to break than adults. I was there for _thirteen_ years. I marked the days on the walls of my cell so I wouldn't forget." She paused for a moment and looked at Sam. He looked rather sad.

"That must have been horrible," he said quietly. Erin snorted.

"Yeah, no kidding. The demons liked to break us in by asking us: 'Who are you?' every day. If we responded with anything but: 'I am no one,' we were beaten and tortured. I learned fast that stubbornness would get me killed, so I complied, but I made sure I _never_ forgot my name. I said it to myself every morning when I woke up and every night before I fell asleep."

"How did you get out?" Sam asked.

"Well, a few months later—in _this_ dimension—another girl was brought in. She was different. She called herself Buffy and she kicked some major demon ass. She helped all of us escape. She had strength and speed that I had never seen before in a human," Erin explained.

"What did you do after that?" Sam asked, now leaning forward in his chair.

"Well, I had no clue what to do in LA in nineteen-ninety-eight, so I stole some clothes and went from homeless shelter to homeless shelter. I went everywhere. I stole what I needed to survive. Being eighteen made some things easier than others. Sometimes I'd get lucky enough to find an odd job to get some cash—waitressing…stripping…really anything that didn't ask too many questions. I got good at lying about my age and making up surnames. I knew I was born in Boston, so I was trying to get there to see if I could find my birth parents.

"It was on my travels that I got into some trouble. I don't like to hitchhike, because God knows what kind of creep could pick me up, but I was desperate one night. The person that picked me up turned out to be a demon. Tried to slit my throat. I bashed his face into the steering wheel and jumped out of the car. Got pretty beat up, but I was still able to run away. After that, I became obsessed with anything supernatural. I would spend all my time in libraries studying every known piece of literature on weird things known to man."

"Did you ever make it to Boston?" Sam asked. Erin shook her head.

"No. I stopped wondering about my birth parents after a while and turned all my attention to hunting things. Almost got myself killed hunting a wendigo. That's when I met Brendan." At this point, Erin looked at her lap, cracking her knuckles. The corners of her mouth turned up in a bitter smile.

"He was a hunter. He saved my ass more times than I can count. Aaand scolded me every damn time for being so stupid. He taught me so much. Eventually, I knew more than he did." She chuckled softly, but she still seemed sad.

"Did something happen to him?" Sam asked, his voice concerned.

"Yeah. I killed him," Erin answered, looking up at Sam's face, her jaw tight. "Sometime after I met him he became possessed, but the demon inside him kept up a good façade. I never suspected a thing for the longest time. When I found out, the demon told me that Brendan was already dead, so I had no problems when I bound him in his body and set the motel on fire."

As Erin said this, her eyes became somewhat glassy. Sam could tell by the look on her face that Brendan had been more than just a mentor to her.

"You loved him didn't you?" he asked quietly.

"To be fair, he was the only companion I'd ever known. I guess that kinda set me up to fall or him at some point," Erin answered. Sam nodded in understanding.

Both of them were silent for what seemed like forever. Finally, Erin leaned back in her chair and looked up at Sam.

"Well I don't know why you summoned me, Sam Winchester. I'm afraid I know nothing about this 'saviour' you mentioned. I don't know anything about a mystical key either." Sam frowned. He grabbed Kevin's journal and started flipping through it.

"See, that's the thing: the way I understood it, the spell was meant to bring one—or both—to us, but it brought you instead. Maybe we missed something."

"You didn't miss anything," said a familiar voice behind them.

Sam turned around to see Castiel standing at the foot of the stairs, surprised that he hadn't heard the angel come in.

"Did you find something, Cas?" Sam asked, taking note of the sickly appearance of his angelic friend.

"Yes." Castiel crossed the room and laid a stone tablet gently on the table in front of Sam. Erin leaned forward, looking at the tablet curiously. The younger Winchester looked surprised.

"Is this another tablet that Metatron wrote?" he asked. The angel shook his head.

"No. If I understand correctly, it was carved by one of the first monks in the Order of Dagon. It's written in a language that predates all other language known to man."

"Can you read it?" Erin asked, surprising the angel a bit. He hadn't expected her demeanor to change in the time he was gone.

"I'm afraid not, but I can, however, read this," Castiel answered as he retrieved something from the inner pocket of his trench coat; it appeared to be a scroll.

"What is it?" Sam asked, untying the string around the scroll and unrolling it.

"It's a footnote of sorts, written by one of the last monks in the order just a few years ago. It says: '_It is getting too dangerous and I fear the location of the keys might be discovered if I do not take further actions to prevent it. I will give the keys form and place them in different times and places amongst humanity. The key Glorificus hunts will be put in the care of a special slayer, a few years in the future, for I know she will protect it with her life…if given a reason. The key to the heavens will be put in a place no demon or angel will ever dare to look. However, I have yet to find a safe place for the key to Hell.'_"

"The monk was afraid that Glorificus would find the keys, so he hid them. What did he mean when he said '_I will give the keys form_'?" Sam asked.

"The keys are originally formless; just balls of energy and light really. We know that the first key mentioned was transformed into a human, using the blood of the Slayer, but that's not all; there's a second page," Castiel said, pulling out the second scroll from his coat and unrolling it over the other one.

"Damn, how many scrolls do you have in there, Mary Poppins?" Erin asked.

"Just the two," the angel replied absently.

"What does this scroll say?" Sam asked, redirecting the conversation.

"'_After many months of searching, I have finally found the perfect vessel for the key to Hell. I shall give the key the form of an orphan child…_'" Castiel finished reading, holding up the scroll, "The rest of the scroll has been torn off. I was unable to find it." He paused, letting the information sink in, and looked at Erin.

"I believe we have the key to Hell."


	7. Annie, Are You Okay?

**Please read and review! The song I used for the last chapter is "Nobody's Home" by **_**Avril Lavigne**_**.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related. I merely own Erin and this story.**

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**Chapter 6: Annie, Are You Okay?**

Erin was having trouble accepting the fact that she was a mystical key, so Sam had showed her a room where she could stay—and collect herself—and offered to go to her motel to grab her things; he was trying to give her space and time alone to sort things out. Surprisingly, the motel she'd been staying at was in Beulah, North Dakota where the younger Winchester was headed to follow a lead on Dean and Crowley. Sam poked his head in Erin's room when he and Castiel were on their way out the door.

"Do you need anything before we take off?" he asked.

"I don't think so. You showed me where the weapons are in case something, _somehow_, gets past the warding, and where the kitchen and bathrooms are," Erin replied. She looked rather tired. Sam supposed being summoned magically and told you were a magical key would make a person rather weary.

"All right then. Here's my cell number in case you need us," Sam said, handing her a folded piece of paper. "Also, if you're in trouble and can't warn me say: funky town. It's a code Dean and I have used to let each other know when we're in danger."

"Alrighty then. Thanks, Sam," Erin said, taking the paper, no comment on his odd code system. Sam gave her a small wave and left to join Castiel in the car.

When Sam joined the angel outside, he caught him coughing terribly and looking rather pale.

"Hey, Cas, why don't you let me drive? You should rest," he said, looking concerned.

"I'll be okay," the angel replied. Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

With a sigh, the angel reluctantly handed the keys over to the hunter and got into the passenger's side. Sam sighed. He knew Castiel was trying to make light of his condition, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it. The angel never had been a very good liar. If this hadn't been an "all hands on deck" situation Sam wouldn't have asked for his help. Unfortunately, tracking down his demon-possessed brother was not something he could do on his own.

They hadn't even driven a mile when Castiel fell asleep. Sam silently promised his friend that, as soon as Dean was saved, he would find a way to help him.

* * *

When they made it to the motel where Erin had been staying Sam didn't bother waking Castiel up; it was about nine-thirty at night and the poor guy needed his sleep. It had been a long day. He closed the car door as quietly as possible and started to look for the room that Erin had given him the number of. He found it easily and picked the lock. When the door swung open, Sam immediately knew something was off. The shower was still running, that much he'd expected, but the rest of the motel room was in complete disarray. It looked like someone had broken in and tore up the entire place looking for something…or _someone_.

The hunter took the demon knife out of his jacket pocket and carefully scoped out the room, including the bathroom. Whoever had been there was gone. A sinking feeling came over him. What if he and Castiel weren't the only ones who had been searching for the key to Hell and the saviour? This brought up a whole new array of problems. Sam put the knife back in his pocket and set to work collecting Erin's things and shoving them back into her duffel bag, which already had quite a few things in it. He did so quickly and headed back outside, closing the door behind him.

What he saw when he came outside made his blood boil. Crowley was leaning against the hood of the car while Castiel slept peacefully inside.

"'Ello, Bullwinkle. Did ya miss me?"

Sam whipped out the demon knife, getting into a defensive stance.

"_So_ much," he said, ready to take down the monster who'd stolen his brother. The king of Hell put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"You're lookin' for Dean; I'm here to give 'im to ya." Sam stared at the demon skeptically, but relaxed his stance a bit anyway.

"Why?" Sam asked, never taking his eyes off of the British man.

"The little prat's bad for business. He's…_uncontrollable_. Must be the mark. Anyway…Dean's your problem now, _again_, forever," Crowley answered.

"Then where is he?" Sam asked, getting more and more agitated every minute.

"First, there's the topic of my finder's fee," the demon said. Sam gave him another eyebrow raise.

"What do you want this time, Crowley?" he asked, his tone somewhat exasperated.

"The First Blade."

"Why? It only works with the mark," Sam pointed out. The demon rolled his eyes.

"Don't be thick! I don't want to _use_ it! Once your brother finds out that I sold him out he'll be gunnin' for me! Do you _really_ think I want 'im to have the blade?" Crowley responded with exasperation.

"What will you do with it?" Sam asked, putting the demon knife back in his jacket pocket. Crowley shrugged.

"Throw it into a volcano? Leave it on the moon? I'll get creative. Trust me; I don't want Dean gettin' 'is hands on the precious any more than _you_ do."

Sam sighed. He didn't want to do business with Crowley, but this was his best chance at finding his brother.

"Fine. Now tell me where my brother is," he said after a moment.

"I knew you could be a sensible man," Crowley said with a smile, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a folded piece of paper. "This is where you'll find Dean. Now where's the blade?"

Sam took the piece of paper and pulled the First Blade out of his jacket, handing it to Crowley, albeit reluctantly.

"Bloody hell! Are you _mad_? Takin' that thing on a hunt for your brother who just _'appens_ to have the Mark of Cain?" the king of Hell exclaimed as he stuffed the blade into his jacket. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Get out of my sight before I change my mind and kill you," he said. Crowley snorted.

"As if you could, Moose," he said, turning to leave. He paused and turned back to Sam.

"Oh, and as an added bonus for takin' your brother off my hands, here," he said, tossing something to Sam. The hunter caught it and held it up to see what it was. It was a glass vial with a skull stopper, filled with what appeared to be angelic grace. He looked up at the demon questioningly.

"Give that to Castiel. 'e's no good to either of us dead."

And with that, Crowley disappeared. As if on cue, the angel chose that moment to wake up. He got out of the car, looking at Sam quizzically.

"Is everything all right?" he asked with a yawn. Sam quietly handed him the vial of grace. Castiel looked shocked, then concerned.

"Where did you get this?" he asked warily.

"Crowley," Sam replied, taking a quick glance at the location on the paper and putting it in his jeans pocket. Castiel's eyes widened.

"What!?" he exclaimed. Sam jerked his head toward the car.

"Come on, I'll tell you on the way."

* * *

After a nap, which lasted several hours, Erin awoke around nine in the morning and decided to explore the bunker.

"If I only had sunglasses and my iPod, I could reenact the scene from _Risky Business_," she said to herself with a chuckle. She found the garage and took a look inside. When she flicked the lights on, her jaw dropped.

"Awesome!" she mumbled breathily. She spent at least ten minutes examining and praising each vehicle.

Eventually, she started feeling a bit chilly standing in the garage in her over-sized boxers and button-up shirt, so she left to explore more of the bunker. There wasn't a whole lot that she found particularly interesting until she came to the room with the dungeon in it. She took one quick look, mumbled, "Kinky," and left. She didn't even _want_ to know what went on in there.

As she was making her way to the kitchen for a snack there was a loud pounding sound. Following the sound led her to the front—and probably only—door out of the bunker. She chewed on her lip for a moment. She doubted that anyone would just come knocking at a secret, anti-supernatural bunker to "borrow a cup of sugar" and Sam hadn't mentioned anything about expecting a visitor. Deciding not to risk it, Erin crept back downstairs and grabbed one of the many swords on display from a wall.

She was pulling out the cell phone Sam had given her, when suddenly there was a blast that came from upstairs where the door was. The sound deafened Erin, making her ears ring, and the force of the blast felt like a minor earthquake. She looked up toward the door, but there was too much smoke and dust rolling in for her to see what was going on. She ran to her room and locked the door behind her. Erin ripped the sheets off the bed and shoved them against the edge of the door so no one would see inside, turned the light off, then scooched under the bed. It was low to the ground and hard to fit her chest and hips underneath it, but she managed.

_I really need to lay off the cheeseburgers,_ she thought while she focused on her silent breathing. She listened intently and was able to vaguely make out the sound of footsteps, definitely from multiple people, running down the metal stairs. After that, it was completely silent. She chewed on her lip until it bled, then sucked on it until it was numb; a nervous habit of hers.

Suddenly, she heard scuffling outside her door, right before it burst open with the sound of splintering wood. She held her breath and hoped that whatever was in the room couldn't hear her heart pounding. Sam had told her the bunker was safe from all evil, she supposed whoever built it didn't think about someone blowing up the door—kind of odd for a _bunker_. If she made it out of this, she'd have to mention it to Sam.

Erin heard a noise that sounded like someone, or something, sniffing loudly. Her eyes widened when she realized she was being sniffed out. She was trapped. Suddenly, something grabbed her ankle and pulled her out from under the bed, scraping her butt on the frame as they did so. She kicked wildly, managing to hit what was probably a leg before scrambling to her feet and spinning to face her attacker. What she saw in the darkness was something she had never faced before. Her assailant appeared to be a bald human male, but where his eyes should have been there were only carved symbols and he wore long black robes. In one hand, he held a rather nasty looking knife.

Erin swiped at him with her sword then placed a kick to his stomach when he tried to block her. She jumped up on the bed and rolled backwards off of it, landing on her feet and booking it out the door. She ran towards the dungeon, since it seemed like the next safest place in the bunker. A couple of times, her feet slipped on the concrete floor, but she caught herself and kept running. She made it to the dungeon and slammed both sets of doors behind her. She leaned her head against the door and breathed a sigh of relief, but her relief was short lived when the feeling that she was being watched trickled icily down her spine.

Erin turned around slowly, her body shaking, only to find two men, identical to her first assailant, standing there. They must have split up to search for people. She turned around and yanked the doors back open, revealing another of the cloaked men waiting for her. She lunged at him with her sword, but he dodged. They seemed surprisingly agile for blind men. She used the moment to knock his feet out from under him, but before she could finish him, she felt something _wrong_. At first, there was a deep pain in her back, but it quickly started to feel numb and cold. Her eyes grew wide; she had fought enough creatures in her life to know what that feeling was.

It was a knife in her back.


	8. Running Up That Hill

**Please read and review! Thank you! The song I used for the last chapter was an excerpt from Michael Jackson's **_**Smooth Criminal**_**.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related.**

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**Chapter 7: Running Up That Hill**

Sam and Castiel—with his new dose of grace from God knew who—pulled up to the bunker around nine-thirty that morning with Dean handcuffed and glaring daggers at them from the backseat of the Impala. As soon as they saw the bunker's front door off the hinges, looking as if someone had used explosives to open it, they knew something was wrong.

"Erin!" Sam exclaimed.

He had barely managed to put the car in park before he was out and racing towards the door, leaving Castiel to drag Dean to the dungeon. The angel looked at his demonic friend uncomfortably before beginning the process of manhandling him into the bunker.

Sam hurried from room to room, searching frantically for Erin. When he saw her bedroom door destroyed, appearing as though someone had hacked it open after trying to kick it in, he grew even more panicked.

After moments of searching and calling her name, he found her collapsed in a heap on the dungeon floor, surrounded by other bodies. For the moment, Sam ignored the others and bent down to Erin, rolling her over so she was face up. He checked every pulse point he knew. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he discovered that she did in fact have one, even though it was weak and fading.

"Cas!" Sam yelled, hoping the angel would hear him. He did and, moments later, the angel appeared in the doorway of the dungeon, dragging Dean by his shirt collar.

"Sam, what happened here?" he asked, his voice deeply concerned.

"I don't…I don't know," the younger Winchester brother replied. He looked up at his angelic friend, his face pitiful and puppy-like. "Can you heal her?"

Castiel frowned. He dragged Dean past Sam, Erin, and the bodies and left him in the middle of the devil's trap before returning to Sam and kneeling down next to Erin. He looked her over, and then turned his gaze to Sam.

"I can heal her, but it will cost me much of my grace. I may not have enough left to help you with your brother."

"Do it!" Sam urged.

"You're sure?" the angel asked, surprised to hear that Sam was willing to risk his brother for someone he barely knew.

"Yes. If none of the usual tricks work on Dean, she may be our last chance to save him. _Heal her_!"

Castiel nodded and put his hand over Erin's heart. There was a glow of angelic light and then nothing. The boys held their breath anxiously while Dean watched them, intrigued. Who could this woman be that Sam was so eager to save? And how in the hell was she planning on saving him?

Suddenly, Erin's eyes shot open and she gasped for air. Sam and Castiel exhaled in relief and relaxed visibly. She looked at the boys and managed a small grimace.

"You're a little late for saving the damsel in distress aren't ya, boys?" she asked sarcastically. Sam chuckled a bit and helped her into a sitting position.

"You're lucky we made it back when we did. What the hell happened here?" Sam asked.

"I haven't a damn clue. One minute, I'm exploring the bat cave, and the next these guys are blowing up the front door—you might wanna fix that by the way—and then going all Norman Bates on me with those nasty-looking knives of theirs," Erin answered, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness in her back.

Castiel got up and began examining the bodies; all of them were nearly identical.

"Got anything for us, Cas?" Sam asked.

"I've never seen this before. All I can say is: they're most certainly agents of something very, _very_ old…and _evil_. I have no doubt that they were here for Erin. Though how they found her, I do not know," the angel answered.

"Well I could've told you that last part," Erin mumbled sarcastically.

"And you managed to take them down all by yourself?" Sam asked in surprise, his eyes wide. Erin gave him a half-hearted glare.

"_I find your lack of faith in me disturbing_," she said, a bit sarcastically. Dean snorted, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Whoever she is, I like her. You two sure know how to pick 'em. But I don't think there's anything this little firecracker can do to save me," he said, appraising the tiny woman.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam mumbled, his face instantly going from surprised to grim.

Erin stood up and turned to look at Dean. She looked him over from head to toe, keeping her face impassive. At last, she looked him dead in the eyes. What she saw there was pure malice; nothing but ice and blood lust. It sent chills down her spine, but she refused to show any weakness to this demon. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot, jutting one hip out.

"Well…at least he's a sexy son of bitch," she said over her shoulder. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Please, don't do anything to stroke his ego."

Dean smiled a toothy grin and Erin felt an icy sweat break out along her neck.

"It's not my ego that needs stroking," Dean said suggestively, winking at Erin. She rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise.

"Charming," she mumbled, backing up a bit to stand next to Sam. "So what's the plan?" she asked.

Sam explained to her the process of curing a demon with sanctified human blood. "I thought we would start there," he said.

"Good, while you do that, I'd like to get changed into something more appropriate. Did you bring my things?" Erin asked. Sam nodded while he unloaded a cooler of blood that had been blessed by a priest.

"The duffel bag is in the black Impala outside. Be careful. Who knows how many of those creeps are still out there looking for you," Sam replied.

"Don't worry, Sam, I'm always careful." Erin turned and walked away, ignoring the feeling of Dean's eyes watching her all the way.

After retrieving her things from the Impala—which she drooled over for a while when she saw it—Erin decided to take a shower before getting dressed. She was healed, but still covered in blood, though that wasn't why she felt the urge to scrub her skin raw; it was the way Dean had looked at her. The moment she had laid eyes on him, memories surfaced that she'd worked very hard to suppress. Everything from his body language, to the things he said reminded her of Brendan. When his eyes roamed over her body, she didn't feel turned on, she felt violated. It reminded her of way too many things.

She spent an hour standing in the shower with the water as hot as she could stand it, letting the smell of her shampoo make her forget about the demon upstairs. She finally decided that she had spent enough time wasting water and carefully exited the shower. Erin rubbed the fog off of the bathroom mirror and appraised herself. There was no sign that she'd been injured today.

Her eyes wandered over her scars; she had many of them from head to toe. There was a scar just barely hidden by her hairline from a fight where she had bashed her forehead on something. On the left side of her neck she had a scar where a vampire had tried to use her arteries as a juice box. She had a couple scars from stab and gunshot wounds and a few burn scars in between. Nothing too terrible; just light pink scars in random spots. Those scars didn't bother her, however.

On the back of each thigh, running vertically from just under her buttocks to the back of her knees, were four, deep, jagged lines. Even though nearly half a decade had passed since she got them they were still an angry pink color. Erin couldn't see them, but she often ran her fingers over them as a reminder; those were the scars that still made chills run up her spine.

She closed her eyes for a moment to help retain her composure. Deciding that she'd looked at herself enough, she turned away from the mirror and grabbed the pile of clothes she'd brought into the bathroom with her.

As she dressed, she heard a sudden scream that made her blood run cold. It was neither animal nor human. She knew what it was—because there was nothing else it could be—it was the sound of Sam trying to cure Dean. Erin shivered and finished dressing. She made her way back to her room and grabbed some of her more concealable weapons. Deciding that she was armed enough, she left the bunker to go for a run. She had left a note for Sam, but decided not to bother him. Truthfully, she didn't think she could bear to look at his brother again. _Dean. His name is Dean._ Erin reminded herself.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn't Dean's fault that he was a demon, that he had been a good man once. True as it may have been, she still couldn't see anything except a monster. In truth, her experiences made her a little bit biased against anything with black, red, or white eyes.

As she left the bunker and started off at a light jog, her mind drifted back to the years she spent with Brendan. He had saved her life, more than once, and taught her so much in such a short time. A familiar ache began to build in Erin's chest. She had always felt safe with him, like nothing could touch her. What a naïve thought _that_ had been. She grimaced when she remembered trapping the demon in his body and setting him on fire. He had screamed in very much the same way that Dean was screaming now.

Had that killed him? Erin had no clue, but it was better than leaving him to sucker some other girl. She tried to tell herself to blame the demon, not the man, but making that distinction was hard when the two shared the same face.

* * *

Sam never left the dungeon once he started the process of curing his brother. He had done everything in his power to consecrate the room to make sure the ritual would work. By the third injection, he couldn't ignore the fact that Dean didn't seem to be getting any better. If anything, the blood seemed to be causing him great pain. The sounds that his brother made were bone-chilling; neither animal nor human.

Currently, Dean was passed out in the chair. Sam left the dungeon to speak with Castiel, who was working on putting the door back on its hinges. The younger Winchester was surprised to see that the angel had done a good job putting the door back in place and removing the dents; he never would've thought Castiel would be a good handy man. He briefly wondered if his angelic friend had used what was left of his power to fix the door or if he had done it the hard way.

"How's the treatment going?" the angel asked when he'd finished with the door. Sam sighed.

"I don't know. He doesn't seem to be getting any better. If anything, the treatments are causing him pain."

Castiel frowned.

"This is the only way I know of to cure a demon. However, we both know Dean isn't any ordinary demon. He bears the Mark of Cain. For all we know, this cure won't work," he said grimly. Sam looked pained.

"We can't afford to think like that. We have to try everything."

The angel nodded in agreement.

"Yes, but we need to acknowledge what must be done if worse comes to worse."

"I know," Sam replied shortly.

The two men stood in awkward silence for a moment. Sam broke the silence with a small snort.

"You know, I keep thinking about how angry I was with Dean for letting Gadreel possess me. I had accepted death, but he just couldn't let me go. I thought he was so selfish for dragging me back into this world and now here I am, doing the same thing to him. I just don't know what's right anymore. I wonder sometimes if I should just kill him and spare him the torture, but…honestly, Cas…I don't know if I can do it. But I'll be damned if I let anyone else do it," he said sadly.

Castiel sighed; he never had been good with comforting people.

"I don't know what to say, Sam. All I know is, Dean wouldn't want to stay a demon. Personally, I would rather fail, knowing that we tried everything in our power to save him, than not try at all," the angel said. Sam ran a hand through his hair wearily and looked at his watch.

"It's noon. Time for another injection. Let's go see how he's doing," he said.

Castiel nodded and followed Sam to the dungeon. When they arrived, they both froze at the entrance.

Dean was gone.


	9. Nightmare

**Reviews have been scarce lately, so I've been less motivated to update. Remember, each time you review, Dean gets closer to being saved and Faith gets closer to finding her baby! I hope you have liked this story so far, because there's a lot more to come! The song I used for the last chapter was Runnin' Up That Hill by **_**Placebo**_**.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related; I only own Erin and this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Nightmare**

Erin was returning to the bunker around lunch time when she felt a sense of foreboding settle over her. She paused, looking around carefully. There seemed to be no one in the woods except her, but she knew better than to rely solely on appearances. She tucked her hair behind her ears so she could hear better and began to jog again, pretending to be unsuspecting.

When she arrived at the bunker, she saw that the door had been fixed, but was gaping open. Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head to the side. Sam and Castiel wouldn't have left the door open, especially with Dean in their possession. A cold chill trickled down her spine. What if Dean had escaped?

Erin exhaled slowly to calm herself and cautiously started to step toward the door. She needed to make sure that Sam and Castiel were alright, but she also knew that they might already be dead and she could be walking into a trap. She crept inside and made her way to the railing, peering over into the map room. Everything appeared to be in order.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end so intensely that it caused painful goosebumps; there was someone behind her. Turning to meet her assailant, Erin barely missed a punch to the face, courtesy of Dean Winchester, or whatever was left of him. She caught his fist in her hand—which was a bit painful—and twisted his right arm behind his back, forcing him into an arm bar position.

"You should know better than to try to sneak up on a hunter, Dean. Quite frankly, I'm disappointed," she said. She heard Dean chuckle, sending more ice down her spine.

"I'm full of surprises."

Faster than her brain had time to calculate, Dean twisted to the left and brought his left leg up, kicking her in the face. Erin let go of him involuntarily and stumbled back against the railing, falling on her butt. She could taste the salty-penny flavor of blood in her mouth. The last thing she saw before the darkness came was Dean's boot aimed at her head.

* * *

Sam and Castiel were cautiously searching the bunker for Dean when they heard the sounds of fighting in the map room. By the time they arrived, armed to the teeth, there was no one there.

"Search everywhere. We need to make sure Dean isn't here before we go out looking for him. I'll grab Erin and make sure she's safe," Sam said, nodding at Castiel.

The angel nodded back and began his sweep of the room while Sam hurried to find Erin. He made it to her room and paused outside the bed sheet that was being used for privacy until her door was fixed. He knocked on the door frame.

"Erin?" No answer. Sam's brow furrowed and he knocked again. "Erin? It's Sam. It's an emergency. Dean's escaped."

When there was still no answer, Sam decided to risk intruding and pulled the curtain aside. His breath caught in his throat when he didn't see her. He noticed the note on the bed and made his way to it, ignoring the flashbacks of the day Dean disappeared.

_Out for a run. I brought weapons. Be back soon. ~ Erin_

Sam ran a shaking hand through his hair. If Erin ran into his brother on her way back, there was no telling what he could have done to her. He dropped the note and raced back to the map room to find Castiel. When he entered the room, the angel was crouched down on the upper level, examining something. He looked up when he heard the younger Winchester, who was breathing heavy and looking panicked.

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked.

"It's Erin. I can't find her. She left a note saying that she's gone out for a run, but with Dean on the loose, we need to find her before he does," Sam answered quickly. Castiel's visage turned grim.

"I think he already has. I found blood and a few long, bright, red hairs up here. She must have run into him during his escape and tried to stop him. I'm guessing he won."

Sam cursed a blue streak and ran up the stairs, past Castiel, and out the front door. He looked around, but saw no clue of where Dean and Erin had gone. The Impala was missing, so there was no telling where they could be by now. He hurried back inside and gestured for Castiel to follow him.

"Where are we going?" the angel asked, hurrying to keep up with the much taller man.

"Dean took the Impala; we're going to need to use one of the cars in the garage."

* * *

When consciousness started to creep into Erin's mind, the first thing she noticed was the scent of someone else nearby. Whoever it was smelled like leather, booze, and something else that Erin couldn't place. The scent was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite recognize who it was.

As the feeling started to come back to her body, she became painfully aware that she was tied to a chair with her hands bound behind her back with rope. The ropes cut into her flesh painfully, making her wish she was unconscious again. Erin listened for any sort of clue to her surroundings, but heard only the creaking of wood and the soft breathing of another person.

"It's about time you woke up; I was starting to get bored."

Erin's heart skipped a few beats when she heard Dean speak. She opened her eyes, squinting against the throbbing pain in her head, and looked up to see her captor lounging casually in a chair a few feet away. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why didn't you just kill me?" she asked, making an effort to keep her voice calm. Dean smirked, sending chills all over her body.

"Well I wanted to, but that wouldn't be nearly as fun as what I have in mind," he answered.

Erin swallowed nervously as Dean got up and walked over, crouching in front of her and looking at her with eyes full of malicious glee. She kept her face as impassive as possible as the demon in front of her drew a small knife from his pocket and began to trace her jaw, down her neck, and across her collar bone with the tip of the blade.

"I'm rather disappointed in you, Dean. I thought you'd be less…_cliché_ about this," she remarked, her voice trembling slightly.

The former hunter's smirk grew into a grin and the familiar icy shiver attacked her nervous system again.

"Oh, I'm just getting started, sweetheart. I like to build suspense," Dean replied. Erin rolled her eyes.

"Of _course_ you do," she mumbled.

Dean nicked her left collarbone with his blade. It stung a bit as blood began to bead up from the wound, but it didn't bother Erin very much. Few things hurt as bad as what she had been through nearly half a decade ago. Her pain tolerance had become much higher after that night.

"Being a smartass will only make things worse for you," Dean said with an evil smirk. Erin narrowed her eyes at him.

"What do you want with me anyway? You could have gotten as far away from your brother as possible, but instead you waited around to capture me. Why? What in the hell do you need me for?" she asked. The demon's smirk turned into a toothy grin.

"I was wondering when you'd ask that. You see, sweetheart," Erin glared at him when he called her that, "my brother thinks you can save me. I really don't _want_ to be saved."

"Then why not just kill me and get it over with?" Erin asked, hoping he wouldn't decide to do just that.

"Because I want _you_ to tell me what my brother is planning first. Why does he think you can save me?" Dean responded. Erin shrugged.

"I don't know. I just met him."

Dean leaned closer to her. His breath smelled faintly of sulfur and booze. Erin met his eyes, doing her best to keep hers blank.

"See, I think you _do_ know. And one way or another, I'll get it out of you."

Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why would I tell you anything when I know that you're going to kill me anyway?" she pointed out. The demon grinned again.

"Because I'll torture you until you tell me. Death will seem like a picnic when I'm through with you. If you tell me now, I'll spare you the torture and kill you quickly."

Erin glared hard at the demon in front of her. Before he could say another word, she spat in his eyes. Dean stood up and unleashed a string of curses, wiping the saliva from his eyes. Her brow furrowed when she saw steam—possibly smoke—rising from his eyes. _What the fuck? _Erin thought.

Dean suddenly lashed out, backhanding her across the face so hard she felt her neck pop as her head snapped to the side. Pain exploded through the right side of her face and stars danced across her vision. She knew that antagonizing her captor wasn't a smart idea, but she figured she might as well go down fighting in some way. She wracked her brain, but didn't see any way out of this.

As her head lolled to the side, a headache throbbing in her skull, she noticed that they were in a log cabin. Judging by the looks of the place, it hadn't had any inhabitants for a while and it didn't appear to have any modern amenities. Erin's stomach churned when she realized that Dean had drawn wards around the room, the blood glistening in the late afternoon sun. Among them were angel wards and wards designed to cloak people from locator spells.

When her vision became clearer she saw that there was a table not far from where Dean sat. The contents of the table were some of the most gruesome torture instruments that Erin had ever seen—which was saying something for someone who spent all of her spare time reading everything she could get her hands on. Something silver glinted in the light, catching her attention. She turned her gaze to the ceiling and felt her stomach flip when she saw several meat hooks hanging from the rafters. The demon in front of her smelled her fear and smiled, his black eyes cold and empty save for the malicious glee dancing in them.

_I am so fucked_.

* * *

Sam and Castiel returned to the bunker, feeling rather disheartened and increasingly worried. They had driven around for hours, with the angel trying his best to sense Dean and Erin's presence, with no results.

"Dean must have angel wards up wherever they are," Castiel mused.

"Is there some kind of locator spell we could try?" Sam asked hopefully. The angel frowned.

"We could, but chances are Dean will have wards up against those too," he answered. Sam cursed and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch something.

"What I do not understand is: why would Dean kidnap Erin in the first place? Why didn't he just take the Impala and run?" Castiel pondered aloud.

Sam thought about that for a minute, surprised that the question hadn't arisen earlier. Then it dawned on him.

"He must have been paying attention when I said Erin might be our last chance to save him," he said quietly. His eyes widened in horror. "Dean doesn't want to be saved, which means he'll destroy anything that could rid him of the demon he's become…" he trailed off, cold fear settling in his stomach. Erin didn't deserve this; no one did.

"How do we know she's still alive then?" Castiel pointed out. Sam thought carefully.

"We don't, but if we're lucky, he'll choose to torture her for information about how we intend to save him before he kills her. That gives us a little time," the hunter answered.

Castiel's brow furrowed. The angel was having a hard time understanding how Erin being tortured was considered _lucky_.

"I don't know if I have enough grace left to be of any help," he said grimly.

Sam pursed his lips. Then a thought came to him. He didn't particularly like the idea, but it seemed like their only option. He looked up at his feathered friend.

"I think it's time to summon Crowley."


	10. Laying Flowers on my Life

**I'm quite disappointed that I haven't received any reviews recently. As it is, we don't have internet at home anymore, so I can't post the chapters I've written as often. So, for any of you who are still reading this story, I apologize for the long time between updates. The song I used for the last chapter was "Nightmare" by **_**Avenged Sevenfold**_**. Please review!**

**DISCLAIMER: I STILL don't own Supernatural or Buffy, but I still dream of owning Dean. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Laying Flowers on my Life**

Faith lay on the bed in the hotel room, staring at the ceiling, one hand hanging off the side of the bed, holding a cigarette that was nearly burned away. She knew the hotel had a no smoking policy, but she really didn't give a damn.

The orphanage in Boston had been closed down for years and no one had any helpful information regarding the children that had been there or the nuns that had run the place or if they did they weren't willing to share. They had looked into every possible lead, always coming up empty. Now they were in LA, following _another_ possible lead that would surely end in nothing. Faith took one last drag from her cigarette, then flicked it into the trash can beside the bed.

The door opened, signaling Robin's return. The slayer didn't turn to look at him; she didn't want to see the look on his face—the look that said he'd found nothing.

"I think I found something."

At these words, Faith shot up, her gaze immediately turning to her boyfriend.

"What did you find?" she asked, trying not to sound as hopeful as she felt.

"In nineteen-ninety-eight, a group of orphans were sold as slaves to demons in another dimension. A few months later, a security camera caught footage of people fleeing from an alley. Get this: Buffy was with them," Robin explained, sounding excited. Faith raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is this supposed to sound like good news? 'Cuz it sounds an awful lot like bad news," she said skeptically.

"I just got off the phone with Buffy. Apparently, following the death of Angel, she fled to LA to get away from everything and worked as a waitress, using her middle name as an alias. She said she managed to avoid everything supernatural until a girl who frequented the diner where she worked asked for help finding her missing boyfriend. Buffy found him, but it was too late; he was dead and had aged about eighty years, seemingly overnight."

"I already knew she ran away. Could you get to the point, please?" Faith asked impatiently, cracking her knuckles.

"Sorry. The point is: Buffy and the girl both ended up in the same demonic dimension that those children were sold to under the guise of it being a 'cleansing home for troubled youth'. Buffy kicked some ass and freed everyone who was still trapped there. A five-year-old girl named Catherine was among the children who were sold. She was found in Boston in March of ninety-three and was a Caucasian brunette. She could be your child," Robin finished excitedly.

Faith sat down on the bed, looking upset.

"Even if she is mine, this means that we _still_ don't know how to find her. She could be anywhere now, if she's even still alive. Hell, she could be older than me now!" she said, pounding a fist on the mattress.

"That's true, but Buffy also pointed out something that never occurred to us before. I'm rather embarrassed that it didn't really," Robin said, kneeling in front of his girlfriend, looking a bit sheepish.

"What's that?" Faith asked, still skeptical.

"Willow can do a locator spell," her boyfriend answered.

"I don't know much about magic, but doesn't a locator spell require a picture or something that belongs to the person we're looking for?" the slayer asked.

Robin smirked at her and pulled something from his inner coat pocket. He held the item up, revealing it to be a wallet-sized photo of a small child with fair skin, grey eyes, and dark brown hair.

"How did you get that?" Faith asked.

"I did some digging and found files on every child that was in the orphanage here. Now, most of the children's files state whether or not they were adopted or if they left the orphanage when they came of age. However, there were a handful of children whose files just stop around the time they were five. Catherine, the girl in this picture, was among those children," Robin explained.

Faith was quiet for a long time, staring at the picture of her possible daughter before asking, "Did she have a full name?"

Robin shook his head slightly as he said, "Catherine Alexandria…no last name."

* * *

"Why _exactly_ should I help _you_?" the king of Hell asked, with an eyebrow arched at the hunter and his angelic friend.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Because we haven't killed you?" he suggested. Crowley scoffed.

"Try again, Moose. You're askin' me to find some 'saviour'…some 'key' person? What's in it for me?" he asked.

Sam cursed in frustration.

"If the doors are sealed, nobody can escape from _you_," Castiel pointed out.

"I also can't go down there without gettin' trapped for eternity," Crowley countered.

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation.

"What do you _want_, Crowley?" he asked impatiently.

They were running out of time to find Erin and they were all too aware of it. The demon smiled.

"That's more like it, Bullwinkle," he replied. He looked thoughtful for a moment before looking back at Sam, his grin smug. "I want a guarantee that I can come an' go between hell and earth as I please."

Sam groaned inwardly.

"How are we supposed to do that?" the hunter asked. The king of Hell shrugged.

"If you want my help you'll find a way. Now, do we have a deal or not?"

Reluctantly, Sam held out his hand for the demon to shake. "Fine. We have a deal. I don't have to kiss you do I?" he asked as Crowley shook his hand.

"You wish, Moose. No, you're not sellin' your soul, so a handshake will do."

Sam looked relieved.

"Now then, your girl Erin is…" Crowley trailed off, closing his eyes and trying to sense Erin's presence.

Sam and Castiel waited on baited breath. Their only hope was that Dean may have neglected to put up demon wards wherever he was hiding Erin.

"'e's got 'er holed up in a cabin near Perry Lake. It's near Topeka. You better hurry, 'er presence isn' very strong," Crowley finally said.

"Thank you," Sam said as he motioned to Castiel to go out to the car.

"Don' mention it. _Ever_," the demon replied. He turned as if ready to leave, then turned back to Sam.

"Oh, an' ya might need this," he said, reaching into his suit pocket and pulling out another, larger vial of angelic grace. "Catch."

Crowley tossed the vial and Sam caught it deftly. The younger Winchester looked at it for a moment before pocketing it.

"Do I want to know how you're getting this?" he asked rhetorically. Crowley smirked.

"Don' look a gift horse in the mouth, Moose," he replied over his shoulder as he strolled up the stairs and out the door of the bunker.

Sam thought he heard him complaining under his breath about not being able to teleport out because of the wards in the bunker.

* * *

The first thing Castiel became aware of as he exited the bunker was the presence of a young man and woman a split second before someone jumped him, tackling him to the ground. All the wind was knocked out of the angel as he hit the ground, ending up with a mouthful of dirt. His assailant, the woman he'd sensed, turned him over and straddled him, one hand around his throat and the other hand holding what appeared to be a wooden stake.

"Tell me what you've done with my daughter! Now!" the woman demanded, her tone both threatening and desperate.

"Faith! You can't attack random strangers and beat them for information!" the man exclaimed.

"He's not human! I can sense it!" the woman, apparently Faith, yelled over her shoulder.

"Oh. Well in that case…" the man trailed off as he pulled a wicked-looking knife out of his coat.

Castiel's eyes widened fearfully. In his weakened state, there was no telling whether or not a normal knife—or a wooden stake—would kill him.

"Miss Lehane, if you would be so kind to release me, I will gladly tell you what you want to know," the angel choked out.

Faith stared at him in shock. Castiel took that opportunity to roll over so that he was now on top of her. He took note of their position, feeling rather awkward, and pushed away from her, standing up and brushing himself off. Faith jumped up and settled into a defensive stance, glaring at him murderously. The angel held his hands up in surrender.

"I know what you're thinking—" Castiel was cut off by a rather angry slayer.

"I'm thinking you better explain how you know who I am and where the hell my daughter is!" The angel sighed.

"What's all this then?" came Crowley's voice from the doorway of the bunker. The angel sighed again, hanging his head in exasperation.

"Not now, Crowley," he said, hoping the demon wouldn't make things worse.

"Don' 'ave to tell me twice," Crowley said with a snarky tone before disappearing into thin air.

Castiel groaned. Seeing someone disappear like that was _bound_ to make things worse. He turned his attention back to the couple.

"I think you should come inside and sit down. This may take a while."

* * *

Faith and Robin sat at one of the tables in the main room of the bunker, staring rather dumbfounded at Sam and Castiel. They had agreed, rather reluctantly, to hear them out and after an hour or so, they had been filled in on the existence of hunters and angels and the current situation with Dean and Erin.

"I still can't wrap my head around the idea of _one_ person being chosen to fight all the evil in the world. I thought a hunter's life was tough. … And _you're_ a slayer?" Sam said, directing the question at Faith. She nodded.

"One of many these days," she answered dryly.

"That's not what's important right now, Sam," Castiel said. "I'd like to know how you found out Erin was here. This bunker is warded against magic."

"Well, we didn't exactly track her here. We have a friend who's a rather powerful witch and she—"

"You're friends with someone who sold their soul for magic and immortality!?" Sam exclaimed, cutting off Robin's explanation.

Both Robin and Faith looked confused. Castiel put a calming hand on his friend's shoulder.

"There are different kinds of witches, Sam. Some are born with their powers, some make deals for them—you've met those ones—and some achieve their power through practice and natural talent," the angel explained. Sam calmed visibly.

"Oh…sorry," he mumbled.

"As I was saying," Robin continued, "our friend did a locator spell for us a few days ago and found her in Beulah, North Dakota, but then the spell went crazy and pointed us to Kansas. Unfortunately, it couldn't pinpoint an exact location, so we headed toward the general area that it lit up. It lead us here."

"Makes sense," Sam conceded.

Faith stood up abruptly, looking rather angry. Robin knew that was her way of showing—or rather _not_ showing—anxiety.

"Why are we sitting here talking while my daughter is being tortured to death?" she asked, cracking her knuckles. Robin stood up, closing the distance between them and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"We were on our way to go find her when Castiel ran into you," Sam said.

"Well let's not waste any more time. How long has she been missing? Do you have any idea where she is?" Robin asked. Sam and Castiel shared a glance.

"Our…uh…sources tell us she's near Perry Lake. Somewhere near Topeka. It's about a three hour drive. She's been missing for about nine hours now," Sam answered grimly. Faith's frown deepened.

"By the time we get there, she'll be dead; if she isn't already," she said, her voice cracking a bit at the end.

"We're not gonna let that happen," Sam said seriously. "We'll find her and we'll bring her back _alive_."

"Wait, you don't seriously think I'm going to let you go without me do you? This is _my_ _daughter_ we're talking about," Faith responded.

Robin knew that it wasn't _one-hundred percent certain_ that Catherine was her daughter, but he hated to crush his girlfriend's hopes. He also knew better than to get in her way when she was determined to do something.

"She also has _no idea_ who you are and is a _thirty-four year old hunter_. If she's able to, she's liable to shoot first and ask questions later after what she's been through," Sam pointed out.

"Sam's right. I think she would be better off with people she knows," Castiel said. No need to mention that they had barely known her for a day.

Faith got uncomfortably close to the angel's face and poked him in the sternum, hard. The angel grimaced in pain.

"She's. My. Daughter. And if I'm not mistaken, you two could use all the help you can get. I'm coming with, end of discussion," the slayer said menacingly.

Castiel looked at Sam helplessly. The hunter sighed, looking to Robin who just gave him a look that said "it's best to let her have her way". Sam ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he said, his tone one of obvious defeat.

Faith backed away from Castiel, looking satisfied.

"Good, then let's go. It'll be after midnight by the time we get there and if she's gone for a full twenty-four hours the chances of her being alive when we find her become slim to none," Faith said. "I call shotgun!" she declared afterwards, turning and walking up the stairs.

Castiel rubbed his chest and winced.

"Is she always like that?" he asked Robin. The ex-principal smirked.

"Pretty much."


	11. Pitiful Creature of Darkness

**Sorry for the long time between updates, I still have no internet at home. On the plus side, I've been turning out chapters a lot faster lately, so you guys will have more to read at once. The title of the last chapter was a line from the song "24" by **_**Jewel**_**. Please read and review!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer; I only own Erin and this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Pitiful Creature of Darkness**

It's rather difficult to pass out when someone keeps waking you up with a cattle prod. After all these years, Erin had nearly mastered the art of blocking out pain in order to keep from passing out, but everyone has their limits. She had been in and out of consciousness so many times she'd lost track of how long she had been held captive. Every time her brain would slip into nothingness she would be rudely awakened by six-thousand volts of electricity coursing through her body. She was pretty sure her heart could break dance now. On the bright side, most of her body had gone numb at this point.

Dean had decided that having her tied to a chair wasn't fun enough not long after she had awoken. He had then proceeded to hang her from the ceiling with the meat hooks he'd brought with him. Erin had long ago stopped wondering where he had acquired the torture tools and switched to wondering how much damage her body could take before it shut down entirely. At the moment, she had a hook through the flesh between her shoulder and her neck, on each side, a couple hooks in her back, a hook in each thigh, and a hook in the hollow of each wrist. She probably would've died from blood loss by now, had Dean not cauterized the wounds with a hot fire poker in order to keep her alive longer. _Maybe one day the Blue Fairy will come and I'll be a real girl_, Erin thought dryly. It was amazing how much of her sense of humor she retained, regardless of her bleak situation.

Despite everything he had done, at least the demonic Winchester had left her clothes on. Erin shuddered to think about what he _could_ do and hoped he would be too preoccupied to think of those things.

Currently, Dean was outside chopping wood to add to the fire he had started in the fireplace; it was the only way he'd been able to heat his torture instruments enough to burn Erin, who had long since stopped feeling the warmth the fire provided in the chilly October night.

Erin opened her eyes, straining to make out the details of the room through her blurred vision. Dean had closed the curtains and no light showed through, indicating that it was still dark outside. She lolled her head back, staring up at the chains that had her suspended from the ceiling. She tried to make her brain work, tried to think of a way to get down, but nothing came to mind.

She had long ago told Dean that she honestly had no idea how she was supposed to save him; only that Sam had found a prophecy about a key to Hell and a saviour of the damned—whoever "the damned" were—and used the summoning spell that accompanied it. She wasn't sure whether Dean thought she was lying or if he had another motive for keeping her alive.

_What does he want with me?_ Erin thought over and over. She knew he didn't want to be saved. She knew that he planned to kill her so that Sam and Castiel couldn't use her for that purpose. _Sam and Castiel…_

At that moment, Dean entered the cabin, his arms full of wood. He closed the door behind him with his foot and went over to feed the fire. The entire time, he never even glanced up at Erin, who was watching him with renewed curiosity. As he fed the fire he whistled a tune; it was one that she found familiar, though she couldn't place the song. She found his whistling odd as he seemed to take no enjoyment in his task. For that matter, he seemed to have no feelings towards his task at all.

This intrigued Erin. She knew that demons were people who had sold their souls, either before death or as the result of torture in hell, but it never really occurred to her what it meant to be a demon beyond that. Demons seemed to have some range of emotion; they seemed to take enjoyment in the things they did and she'd seen them become angry and frightened. Of course, according to Sam, Dean was more than your average demon—he was a Knight of Hell.

Erin wondered exactly what that entailed. She began to wonder if she had ever seen Dean show any real emotion. She closed her eyes and thought back to the way he looked at her when he had first brought her to the cabin. At the time, she thought she'd seen malicious glee in his eyes. When she thought about it now she realized that, although there was indeed malice in his eyes, there was no happiness in them; maybe mild amusement, but no real joy.

She thought back to every time he had tortured her; to every time he had made her scream. Sometimes he would grin, but the action never reached his eyes. Erin would scream in pain and the mark on Dean's arm would glow an angry red, but the demonic Winchester never seemed to get much out of it otherwise. He also never seemed to sleep or eat. Even though demons didn't need to eat, Erin had seen plenty of them enjoy food and drink from time to time. She had seen Dean take a swig from a whiskey bottle every now and then, but he never seemed to enjoy the drink—it was almost seemed like he did it out of habit.

Even now, as he whistled what Erin finally recognized as the Beatles' "Hey Jude", he did everything automatically and with complete indifference. It was then she realized that the emotions that made humans what they were had all but vanished from the twisted soul that was Dean Winchester. She opened her eyes, tilting her head to the side quizzically. In that case, why in the hell did he care if he was saved or not? What was the driving force behind his actions? Surely, he had one?

Dean chose that moment to look up. He caught Erin staring at him and smirked, his eyes cold and empty. He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans and walked over to stand in front of her.

"Oh good, you're awake already. I've been debating and I think it's time to change things up a bit," he said. Erin didn't have the energy to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Oh goody," she mumbled sarcastically.

"That's the spirit," Dean said. Without another word he reached over to her left wrist and proceeded to take out the meat hook.

It was a painful process, but it was over soon. The hole in her wrist barely bled, but Dean burned it shut anyway. He the repeated the process with the hooks in her right wrist and both of her thighs. When he took the hooks out of her shoulders she dropped suddenly, putting more strain on the hooks in her back. Erin hissed in pain, but refrained from crying out. She noticed the mark glowed a bit at the sound of her suffering, almost as if it was reveling in it.

Dean reached around her to remove the hooks from her back, his chest pressing up against her. He smelled like sulfur, whiskey, and wood smoke. As soon as her back was free of the meat hooks Erin collapsed forward, held up only by Dean. As she fell she reached out to stop herself, one hand landing lightly on his chest…the other landing right on the mark on his arm.

Instantly, the older Winchester cried out in pain as the Mark of Cain began to burn, steam rolling off of it like dry ice. Erin might have cried out, but she was too distracted by the slew of memories that assaulted her psyche.

_A woman, gutted and burning on a ceiling as someone screamed "Mary!"… A small boy with a baby in his arms…"Dean, take your brother outside!"… A beautiful blonde woman in a white nightgown, protecting Sam and Dean from some unknown force…"Mom?"…Dean saying, "I drew the short straw," as he lay in a hospital bed, looking rather awful…Dean standing next to a hospital bed, staring down at an older man…"Dad?"…Dean looking on the verge of tears as he said, "He said I might have to kill you, Sam."…Sam, looking much younger and significantly less muscular, unconsciously in Dean's arms as the older brother cried, "Sammy!"… Dean conversing with a red-eyed demon…"You've got a deal."…Dean getting ripped apart by some unseen creature, which Erin recognized as a hellhound… Dean clawing his way up from somewhere dark, through dirt, to see the sky above…Castiel telling Dean, "I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."…A bloodied, blonde teenage girl and an older brunette woman on the floor of what looked like a hardware store, saying goodbye to Sam and Dean…That same store exploding…Castiel exploding gruesomely next to the Impala…Sam falling into a hole in the ground with another man…Castiel looking downright insane as some black spread up his neck…Castiel with some strange, silver blade sticking out of his torso…"Cas!"… A pretty, brunette woman and a dark-haired boy in danger…"Lisa!"…"Ben!"… Dean watching the woman and the boy in the hospital, as if he'd never see them again…"I'm the guy who hit your car."…"Take care of your mom."… An older man with facial hair in the back of a van, blood running down his head…The same older man in the hospital, dying…"Bobby!"… Sam dying again and again…"Sam!"…"Sammy!"… A red head girl being killed by something resembling a hag…"Charlie!"… A teenage boy dying as white light burned through his eyes…"Kevin!"…Dean, bloodied and dying, telling Sam, "It's turning me into something I don't wanna be."…_

Erin's eyes were rolled back in her head and her body trembled as memory after memory hit her like a ton of bricks. If she thought _her_ life had been bad before, she felt grateful now that it hadn't been as bad as Dean's. She could feel his pain and smell the blood, sweat, and tears behind every tragic moment. She could smell the salt, sulfur, dirt, gasoline, gun powder, and burning remains behind nearly every mission…behind every loss.

Finally, Dean managed to wrench her hand off of his arm. He pushed her to the floor and examined the mark. It was an angry red, but it was only slightly redder than the hand print around it. It looked very similar to the hand print Castiel had left on him years ago when he had raised him from Hell.

Erin lay on the dusty, blood-spattered floor of the cabin, unable to feel the wood beneath her as she reeled from the things she'd just witnessed. She felt as though she had gone through those moments first-hand. Suddenly, everything made sense. Demon Dean—as she saw fit to call him, since he was no longer the Dean everyone else knew—was _afraid_. Out of all the emotions that eluded him, fear was not one of them.

He could still feel negative emotion to an extent, maybe not sadness, but most definitely fear and anger. Although the demon couldn't feel the loss, it could most certainly remember it and it was fighting tooth and nail to keep from going to back to the life of a human—a life filled with pain and suffering.

Erin had never truly hated _Dean_, for she was well aware that the man who was hurting her was not who he really was, but now she _understood_ him. In her stupor her thoughts were brought to Brendan. Although she'd always known that it wasn't _really_ Brendan that had hurt her, she had never let herself realize it to the full extent until now. It wasn't the _man_ that had hurt her, it was the _demon_—a demon that had once been a normal human being.

Erin didn't know what happened to cause that man to sell his soul, she supposed she never would, but it wasn't important. For the first time, she found herself able to forgive the one who had caused her so much pain. She no longer hated him; rather she took pity on him; very angry pity, but it was a start.

She opened her eyes, turning her gaze to Dean, who was staring at her quizzically, hesitant to touch her again. Instead of the demon, she saw the man who was pleading for the pain to end; she knew he wasn't there anymore, but something was and that something was terrified of pain.

It suddenly dawned on her why he hadn't killed her yet—he was projecting all of his pain on her, whether he realized it or not. What started as a method to get information had become a way for the monster to punish someone for Dean's pain. Although Erin herself had not caused him any, she represented everything that Dean had stood for. She was a hunter and she was supposed to save him and many others from damnation.

That was the very responsibility that the older Winchester had placed upon himself so long ago; the responsibility that made him feel like he could never have a normal, apple-pie life, like he was forever a failure. He didn't deserve any of the hurt, despite what he thought. It occurred to Erin that, although God had punished humans for the first sin, He didn't actually _want_ them to suffer. It seemed like it most of the time, but in truth, everyone in the world was just dealing the hand they were dealt. Who the dealer was—the Fates, the angels, whoever—didn't really matter. What mattered was that few people deserved the pain and suffering that occurred so often.

She stared at Dean and her heart ached for him. She had no reason to forgive him for the horrors he had inflicted upon her. She didn't really know Dean and the man standing before her was a demon, a spawn of Hell for all intents and purposes. _'Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone.'_ Erin managed to smile bitterly at the thought.

"What have you done to me!?" the demon standing beside her growled in sudden rage.

Erin didn't answer. Instead, she forced herself to roll onto her stomach and began trying to stand. It was a fight to make her limbs work and it was only with the support of the wall that she was able to get upright. She leaned against the wood, using all her strength. She looked Dean in the eyes for the first time since they met and noted that it made the demon nervous.

"I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry," she whispered to him, her voice unable to go any louder.

This only served to enrage the monster further. He grabbed a knife from the nearby table and charged at her, slamming her up against the wall and plunging the knife into her abdomen in the soft spot just below her sternum. Erin barely felt the pain, but she knew where the blade had hit and she knew what it meant. She looked into the eyes of the furious demon in front of her.

"I forgive you," she said softly. The demon looked confused a split second before it gave an inhuman shriek of agony.

Erin's world went dark.


	12. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Don't worry; the story is far from over! I have much more to inflict on these characters before I'm through. Mwahaha! The name of the last chapter is something Christine Daae sings to the Phantom towards the end of Andrew Lloyd Webber's **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** musical/movie. Please review!**

**DISCLAIMER: I still do **_**not**_** own Supernatural or Buffy.**

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**Chapter 11: Don't Fear the Reaper**

The body of Dean Winchester writhed on the cabin floor, uttering screams of agony that were neither animal nor human. Inside, his soul was changing. The darkness that had twisted it was being chipped away, freeing the soul from its chains. The demon screamed louder, its black eyes wide in terror and agony.

Dean's body arched until only his fingers and the tips of his boots touched the floor. Black smoke poured out of his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, seemingly chased away by the white light that followed. The Mark of Cain burst into flames. All at once, the light faded, the flames went out, and the black eyes gave way to very human green ones. Dean Winchester collapsed on the hardwood floor, panting.

Moments passed as the hunter lay, unmoving, trying to process what had happened. The last thing he remembered was Metatron's face as he plunged the angel blade into him, then Sam at his side begging him to hold on. It felt like he'd been asleep for ages. He was surprised to be alive. Just how long _had_ it been since the scribe of God skewered him?

Dean sat up and winced, looking down at the source of the pain in his arm. The Mark of Cain had been reduced to nothing more than a faint, pink scar. The cause of the pain was the angry red hand print around it. His brow furrowed. Had Castiel pulled him out of Hell again? He couldn't remember being in Hell.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He appeared to be in a cabin, one that was used by state parks for those that preferred staying in a cabin to sleeping on the ground, judging by the furniture. It looked like it hadn't been used in quite a while. There was a fire crackling away in the stone fireplace. It must have been burning for quite some time, for the cabin was rather warm and the flames were low.

Something red on the wall caught Dean's eye. It was one of the wards. The older Winchester looked around at each of the angel and magic wards. Who put them there? Had he been hiding from Metatron? Something silver on a nearby table glinted in the firelight, catching his attention. He stood up, feeling a bit drained, and examined the contents of the table. Cold fear gripped him by the spine when he realized he was looking at torture instruments.

He began looking around frantically, searching for anything that might explain what was going on. His eyes finally found Erin's battered body slumped in the corner and all the memories of the past couple months came flooding back. Tentatively, he closed the distance between them and knelt down in front of her. Her body was propped up against the wall in a sitting position, her eyes wide open, seeing nothing. Dean reached out, his hand shaking, checking for a pulse, when he found none, he gave a shaky exhale. He felt tears sting his eyes for the girl he never knew.

"Stupid!" he cursed, hitting his knee with his fist.

This was his fault. He had been stupid to think that taking the Mark of Cain would be a good idea. Hell, he'd been stupid to think that dying would free him from it. He cursed again, this time for his brother. Why hadn't the bastard just killed him and ended it all?

"Fucking coward!" he yelled, not willing to admit that he would have done the same thing if he'd been in his brother's shoes.

Dean looked at Erin's emotionless face. She had forgiven him. For all intents and purposes, she was a total stranger to him and yet she had looked him in the eyes and forgiven him for the pain he'd inflicted upon her. Why?

"Why!?" he cried out to her lifeless body, punching the wall next to her head.

He gritted his teeth in pain and took a moment to glance at his now bloody knuckles. He lost it then, letting hot tears pour in torrents down his face.

_She shouldn't have forgiven me. Why did she? Why? …_ The question repeated itself again and again in Dean's mind. _He_ was the one that deserved to die, not her. _Erin. Her name is Erin,_ he remembered. She didn't deserve to be dragged into the danger that was the life of the Winchesters and she didn't deserve to be kidnapped and tortured. Erin didn't deserve the life of a hunter at all.

Dean pulled her body into his lap, cradling her and rocking her back and forth slightly. He looked down at her, his tears splashing on her face. He didn't even know how old she was—though if he had to guess, he would've said mid-to-late twenties—and he didn't fully understand why he was mourning her death. Maybe it was because he was responsible for it, but he felt as though there was something else. No one had ever looked at him the way she had and said "I forgive you". Sam was probably the only exception and Dean felt as if his brother never truly meant it; he only said it because they were family.

Dean shook his head, holding her closer. He couldn't bear to look at those eyes anymore; those eyes that should've have been accusing and full of hatred, but instead were full of forgiveness and understanding. Who was this woman who could forgive a total stranger for causing her so much pain? He couldn't think of anyone who could do that, except _maybe_ Castiel.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, wishing she could hear him.

"How touching," said a bored voice with an aristocratic accent from behind Dean.

The hunter looked up and saw none other than Death himself sitting in the chair Erin had been tied to earlier, a large movie theater bucket full of buttered popcorn on his lap.

"Oh don't mind me, continue your self-loathing. I brought a snack," the horseman said dryly, gesturing to the popcorn. Dean just stared at him for a long moment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, finding his voice.

"Watching you screw things up _again_," Death replied, popping a bit of popcorn into his mouth.

Dean was speechless. Death set the bucket of popcorn on the table and stood up, straightening his suit.

"You know, I could have _sworn_, last time we met, that I told you to clean up your own messes, not make _more_. Either you thought I was joking or you don't like taking advice from anyone, even when death is staring you in the face," Death said, staring pointedly at Dean. The older Winchester dropped his eyes remorsefully, turning his attention back to the body in his arms.

"Don't worry about her, she'll wake up soon," the horseman said, waving a hand dismissively. Dean's gaze shot up to him, his brow furrowed.

"Are you nuts?" he exclaimed, forgetting himself. "She's dead."

Death gave him a deadpan look as if to say: "No! Really?"

"She's also got a job to do and she is not permitted to die until that job is done," he said. Dean looked at him quizzically.

"What job? What are you talking about?" he asked, feeling very confused.

The horseman rolled his eyes, an expression he only used when someone was being unfathomably stupid.

"She's been given the important task of closing the doors of Hell and saving those who cannot otherwise be saved. No reaper is allowed to take her until she has completed her job," Death replied. Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

"Not even you?" he asked incredulously.

"Who do you think made that rule? God and I have an agreement."

Dean looked back down at Erin, feeling relieved that she was not gone for good. His brow furrowed in confusion and he looked back up at the father of all reapers.

"Then why exactly are you here?" he asked. The fourth horseman shrugged.

"Maybe to keep you from burying her before she wakes. Being buried alive is a _nasty_ thing, or so I've heard. Maybe to watch you wallow in self-pity. Or maybe to tell you to get your head out of your posterior," he answered. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked indignantly.

Death waved a hand, removing all the wards from the cabin and looked down at the older Winchester, ignoring his question.

"Try not to screw _this_ up," he said, gesturing to Erin with his cane.

Before Dean could ask him what _that_ meant, the horseman was gone, leaving him alone once more. Dean shook his head. Why did Death have to be so cryptic?

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Erin inhaling suddenly, trying to take in as much air as possible. He started and looked down at her, looking relieved. He watched her, waiting to see if she was okay.

She blinked a few times as her vision returned. When it did, she looked up at Dean, looking terrified. She then noticed something was off and searched his eyes curiously. When she realized that the demon was gone she looked confused, but relieved. She managed a soft, wry smile.

"Hello, Dean Winchester. It's nice to _finally_ meet you."


	13. Shot in the Dark

**So I finally got caught up with season ten! I love how it's turning out! To be honest, it's intimidating trying to write a decent fan fiction story of it. The only thing I'm angry about is what happens to Charlie. I don't know if I'll be able to live up to the awesomeness that's there already, but I'm going to try. The song for the title of the last chapter is "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" by **_**Blue Oyster Cult**_**. Please review!**

**DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Supernatural or Buffy, but I'll gladly take ownership of Dean if he's selling. ;)**

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**Chapter 12: Shot in the Dark**

Dean was rather speechless. Erin stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to say something, only to be met with silence. The older Winchester avoided her gaze. She followed his eyes to see what he was looking at and discovered that he was scrutinizing all of her wounds.

The worst ones were nothing more than angry, red scabs with the lesser injuries being reduced to faint, pink scars. Erin frowned. She knew what Dean was doing—she herself had done it many times—he was torturing himself. She grabbed his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. Gentleness be damned!

"Don't you start that shit! I won't allow it," she said firmly. Dean stared at her like she'd just turned into his mother.

"What the hell did you just say?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"You heard me," Erin replied, her voice dripping with sass. "I'm not going to let you beat yourself up about this. I've read your mind, Dean Winchester, I know how you operate."

"Why shouldn't I? The things I've done—" Dean's sentence was cut off when Erin pinched his lips shut.

"—were _not_ your fault. You've made mistakes, taking the Mark of Cain being the dumbest of them all. You've done some pretty horrible shit, not gonna lie. But you know what? You're still a good person, whether you believe it or not," she said, the last part coming out softer than the rest.

"How do you know? You don't even know me," Dean responded, staring at her. Erin tapped her temple.

"Mind-meld, remember? I've seen nearly everything you've seen and felt nearly everything you've felt. Truthfully, the memories of all your one-night-stands were more terrifying than all of your memories of Hell," she said, cracking a smile. Dean snorted, but didn't laugh.

"The road to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but you've got to go _through_ Hell before you can get to Heaven," Erin said. Dean raised an eyebrow at her.

"Aren't those lyrics from Jetliner?" he asked. Erin shrugged.

"Does it matter? It's true," she paused for a moment. "I'm not gonna say you _always_ act in complete selflessness, but you _do_ try. That's what matters. As humans, all we can do is _try_. Many of your decisions have been rash and impulsive, yes. Sometimes you mistake revenge for justice. But I've seen enough of your heart to know that, deep in the core of your soul, you _want_ to do the right thing. Our failures do not define who we are."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Dean asked impatiently. Erin glared at him and punched him hard in the shoulder.

"Ow!" the older Winchester exclaimed, looking rather surprised that she could hit so hard. She gave him a "you deserved it" look.

"What I'm trying to say is: you're way too damn hard on yourself. Everyone else has forgiven you, but you still won't forgive yourself. It's like you're afraid to be happy," she said, understanding completely what it felt like to wallow in regret and avoid any chance at happiness. She considered this a "do as I say not as I do" moment.

Dean moved to stand up, unceremoniously dumping Erin off of his lap, causing her to squeak in surprise. He turned his back to her, running a hand over his face. She stood up, straightening her clothes, never taking her eyes off of him. He may not be a demon anymore, but he could still have residual side effects. She noted with some satisfaction that the mark on his arm had all but faded away underneath her hand print. Still…it wasn't completely gone, meaning there was still the possibility for it to affect him.

"You can't possibly understand," Dean said quietly. Erin crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. Five-foot-two-inches of pure sass.

"Oh _really_ now? Tell me, Dean Winchester, at any point in our little Vulcan mind-meld did you see _any_ of _my_ memories?" she asked. Dean turned to look at her.

"Well…no," he admitted awkwardly.

"Then do _not_ presume to tell me what I do and do not understand," she said darkly.

She and Dean stared at each other for a long time in silence. Her severity made Dean shiver involuntarily.

"I know what it's like to be afraid to be happy," Erin finally muttered softly. "You get happy and then you lose whatever it was that made you happy…and it hurts…more than you can bear…more than any physical injury ever could…but you eventually move on. Then the process repeats itself again and again until finally you're so sick of feeling hurt that you decide it's best not to get too happy or hopeful about _anything_, so that when the shit hits the fan, it won't hurt as much.

"But it's a lie and we know it. No matter what we tell ourselves, it hurts every damn time, but we can't think about that. And when you go on like that for as long as we have you eventually forget how to be happy at all. The sadness is almost like a drug. If something's not fucked up, you feel…_wrong_."

Dean wanted to look anywhere except Erin's face in that moment, but he couldn't seem to look away. Her eyes were locked on his, baring all the pain that he saw in the mirror every day, but there was something in her that he couldn't see within himself, though he couldn't put his finger on what.

"Have you ever fucked up as badly as I have?" he asked. Erin looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged a bit.

"It's not about comparing your fuck-ups to mine. I can't say I've ever gone all 'death eater', taken the Dark Mark, and drank the Kool-Aid, but I've done some stupid shit. I was pretty upset to find out that my mentor, my friend and confidante, was possessed and killed by a demon who pretended to be him. I found out later that most of the hunts I was sent on were to exterminate innocent people, not the monsters he claimed they were," she answered.

"Have you ever _knowingly_ killed a human?" Dean asked, a bit hesitant. He made a mental note to later ask her what the hell the Dark Mark and a death eater were.

"I can't say I haven't _thought_ about it, but I learned something a long time ago," she answered.

"What is that?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed.

"It's not a hunter's job to play God. As much as we'd like to rid the world of the human monsters too, it's out of our jurisdiction. It's our job to make the world a safer place to give people the option of living long enough to make the choice become better. And, unfortunately, we can't save everyone," Erin replied.

Dean stared at her, tilting his head like a confused puppy; an expression usually reserved for Sam. She seemed to be one of the most well-adjusted people on the planet.

"How do you do it?" he asked incredulously. Erin gave a tired smirk.

"Lots and lots of meditation, rock music, and frozen margaritas. … And the occasional ass-kicking."

This time, Dean returned the smirk, but it faded almost as soon as it began. He took a slow step towards Erin. She did nothing. He took another step. Still nothing. He stopped and stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Dean asked quietly.

"No. Should I be?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd think so. I just spent," Dean looked down at his watch, "about twelve hours torturing you in some of the most brutal ways I know how. That's usually cause for someone to be afraid of a person."

"That wasn't _you_. I don't have to know you to know that," Erin said with a shrug.

"Would you stop doing that!?" Dean snapped. Erin tilted her head at him.

"Stop what?"

"Shrugging! Being calm! Fucking hell, how are you being so calm right now!?" Dean exclaimed in frustration. Erin bit back a laugh and held back another shrug.

"I don't know. After you've spent _thirteen years_ as a slave in a hell dimension and had your lover and long-time mentor try to kill you everything else just seems par-for-the-course. Ya know?"

This time, Dean let out a small laugh. It was the first time he'd laughed in a long time and it felt amazing.

"Don't get me wrong, until we find a way to get that thing off your arm, I'm sleeping with one eye open. I won't let you catch me off guard again," Erin said. Her tone was joking, but her eyes were serious. Dean nodded.

"I can't say I blame you," he said.

He was quiet for a minute as he looked at her. She was so small. Not stick-thin by any means, but still small. She was a foot shorter than Dean and, were it not for her chest and hips, he imagined she could probably hide in just about any small space. He watched as Erin examined the damage done to her body and clothes. Her tee-shirt and jogging pants had several, bloody rips in them.

Wrinkling her nose, she grabbed hold of the holes in her pants and proceeded to rip them until she had turned them into shorts. Unfortunately for her, they were shorter than she would have liked. She then proceeded to turn her shirt into a midriff-baring, tank top. She assessed her handy work and nodded approvingly.

Erin's skin was quite fair, giving the appearance of fragility, but her numerous scars proved that she was anything but. Dean paled a bit when she turned around and he saw the scars on the backs of her thighs. He could only guess what those were from, but he hoped he was wrong.

He spent what felt like hours just staring at her, as if he were trying to solve a difficult puzzle. He noted that, although most of Erin's hair appeared a rich, rose-red color, when pulled back in a ponytail one could see that the underside was colored black. He also noted things like how many piercings she had in each ear—three in the left and two in the right—and the various tattoos he could see peeking out from underneath her clothes. He was surprised to see that her bellybutton was pierced as well; he figured that would be a dangerous thing to have in the hunting business. The idea of it getting ripped out made him cringe.

Erin didn't have very prominent cheekbones and her face—and anywhere else that was often exposed to sunlight—was peppered with faint freckles, giving her the appearance of someone much younger than she probably was. Her eyes gave Dean chills despite their warmth; they were so similar to his, save for the gunmetal-grey color that they were, particularly in the amount of emotion they held, that it was like looking in a mirror.

The older Winchester shivered. All of these things were seemingly unimportant, but every tiny thing gave him clues to who she might be and Dean had become very curious about the girl who had saved him. At last, Erin caught him staring.

"Okay man, you're starting to creep me out."

This jolted Dean out of his thoughts. He averted his eyes sheepishly, his ears turning pink.

"Sorry," he mumbled. The corners of Erin's mouth turned up in a slight smile. She looked around the room, then back to Dean.

"I don't suppose this place has a bathroom?" she asked hopefully. Dean smiled a bit and shook his head.

"'fraid not. Just an outhouse and a water pump. There's a small closet that has a broom and a bucket."

"Lovely," Erin grumbled. She looked outside, hesitant to go out alone in the chilly night. She turned back to Dean and said, "Keep an ear out for me. If I'm not back in ten, come check on me. And no peep shows!" before unlocking the back door and going outside to, hopefully, wash up.

Dean shook his head, unable to keep from smiling. Where had his brother found this woman?

He sighed, looking around at the cabin. He supposed he should clean the place up before someone saw it and he figured Erin would feel better if he took down the meat hooks. He shuddered when he saw a good deal of her blood and flesh still on the hooks. How she had forgiven him, he would never understand.

Yes, cleaning was definitely in order, but first…it was time to call Sam. Dean pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and pulled up his brother's number. His breath caught in his throat. What was he going to say? _Hey, Sammy! Turns out torturing Erin to death was exactly what I needed!_ Dean snorted derisively. _Yeah. That'll go over well._

Just as he was about to bite the bullet and make the call, he heard the distinct sound of a car pulling up to the cabin. He looked out the window and saw Sam, Castiel, and two people he didn't know exiting the vintage, neon-green, Chevy Bel Air that he recognized from the garage in the Men of Letters bunker. He blew out a stream of air.

"Here we go."


	14. Another Brick in the Wall

**It occurred to me that some things in the story might confuse readers, regarding the ages of the characters, so allow me to lay things out:**

**Erin was born on March 1****st****, 1993, so by our standards she should be 21 in the story, but she spent 13 years in another dimension, making her 34.**

**Dean was born on January 24th, 1979, so at this time in the story he's approaching his 36****th**** birthday.**

**Sam was born on May 2****nd****, 1983, so at this point in time he's 31.**

**Faith was born on December 14****th****, 1982 making her almost 32 at this time.**

**Robin Wood's exact age is unknown, but he was born in 1973, making him about 41 in this story.**

**I hope that clears up any confusion. The song for the last chapter is "Shot in the Dark" by **_**Within Temptation**_**. Please review!**

**DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Supernatural or Buffy.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Another Brick in the Wall**

Dean opened the door and stepped out slowly, making sure his hands were clearly visible. It felt almost like getting arrested. Sam met his eyes, giving his brother his trademark sad puppy face.

"Dean?" he asked tentatively, keeping his distance. The older brother nodded.

"It's me, Sammy," he answered.

Sam pulled out a bottle of Holy water and splashed his brother in the face. Dean sputtered and spit out some of the water, but didn't appear mad. He couldn't blame his little brother for taking precautions.

"How?" Sam asked breathily, his eyes wide.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted when Faith launched forward—having gotten past Robin—and gave him a right hook, sending him flying back into the cabin, skidding across the floor. Dean laid there, his vision swimming, pain exploding through his jaw. It felt broken.

"What have you done with my daughter!?" the slayer yelled, advancing on him.

Sam, Castiel, and Robin managed to grab hold of her, but it took all their effort to hold back the squirming woman. At that moment Erin came in the back door, redressed in her ragged clothes, tousling her wet hair, and shivering from the cold. She saw Dean on the floor, cradling his jaw, and frowned. That's when she noticed Sam, Castiel, and another man she didn't know holding back a woman she'd never met. The woman had stopped struggling and was staring at Erin in shock.

"Care to explain what's going on?" she asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

Sam broke away from Faith, albeit reluctantly, and closed the distance between them. He grabbed Erin's shoulders and looked her over for injuries. Feeling satisfied, he pulled her into a moose hug. She made an "oof" noise. She hadn't expected the man to be so happy to see her.

"Nice to see you too, Sam. Could you ease up, I still need to breathe," she said in a squeaky tone.

"Oh, sorry," Sam replied, relinquishing his vice grip on her. He smiled down at her, and then looked back to Faith.

"I think she's broken," Castiel said innocently, looking down at Faith.

Sam bit back a laugh as he moved out of the way for Erin to see Faith. He looked down at the girl who he was beginning to feel a slight attachment to. Whether that attachment was because he had needed her to cure Dean or not, it was too soon to tell.

"Erin…there's someone here who wants to meet you," he said gently, nodding to Castiel and Robin to release the slayer. They looked rather reluctant to do so, but let her go anyway. Erin looked at her, wondering what the big deal was.

"Uh…hi?" she said awkwardly.

"Hi," Faith said quietly, still staring.

Erin looked up at Sam questioningly. The hunter sighed and ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say.

"Uh…Erin…I don't know how to say this…"

"With words?" Erin asked jokingly. Sam chuckled awkwardly.

"This is Faith Lehane," Sam said as he gestured to the dazed slayer. "She's…your _mother_."

At these words, Erin took on the same stunned expression as Faith and turned to stare at the woman in question. In truth, the two women didn't look much alike at all. Faith was taller, slimmer, and not as fair-skinned. Where Erin's eyes were grey, Faith's were a chocolatey brown. One couldn't even compare hair colors as Erin's hair was had been colored artificially. After a long moment of silence, Castiel began to look uneasy.

"Maybe we should talk about this back at the bunker where it's safe," he suggested.

"I second that!" Dean slurred through his broken jaw. "I'll be in the Impala," he added.

As he headed outside Castiel stopped him and laid a hand on his jaw effectively healing the damage caused by Faith's right hook. Dean moved his jaw around, nodding in satisfaction, and headed outside to the Impala.

* * *

The boys decided to ride together in the Impala, leaving Faith and Erin alone in the Bel Air for the long ride home. They _said_ they wanted to give the ladies some alone time to get to know one another, but in truth, the guys felt incredibly awkward being around them while they stared silently at each other in shock.

Faith had never been the best driver so Erin took the wheel. For the longest time, neither woman said anything. What was there to say?

"I think we're supposed to be doing some tearful bonding," Erin said wryly, breaking the silence. Faith pursed her lips.

"Yeah…never was the bonding type," she replied.

"Is that why you left me at that orphanage?" Erin asked brusquely, surprised by her own bluntness.

Faith turned her gaze to her daughter, taken aback by her comment. She stammered as she tried to find a response. She gave up and sat in silence for a bit, unable to take her eyes off Erin. It finally hit her that the woman that sat next to her was not the baby she gave birth to. This woman was strong and confident. She had lived, albeit through hell, and learned without her mother. Why in the world would she need a mother now?

"Until just recently, I didn't know where you were," Faith finally said. Erin's eyes flickered to her for a moment.

"Why?" she asked.

Faith sighed. She knew she'd have to tell the story again, but that didn't mean she was prepared for it. She exhaled in resignation and began to tell Erin everything she had told Robin.

Erin was silent for a long time, mulling everything over in her head. Several emotions swam through her at once; rage—at the sick bastards who would sell a child for sex and the sick bastards who would actually have sex with someone so young; sadness—knowing what Faith went through and knowing that she never had, and never could have, a normal relationship with her baby; comfort—finally knowing exactly where she came from. She spared a glance at the woman who had given her life and sighed. She wished she felt some sort of connection, but in truth, she felt nothing at all.

"I know you were hoping to find that baby you gave birth to and have a heartfelt reunion that would end in me calling you 'mom' and us going for ice cream, or whatever it is normal families do, but…that can't happen. I know that you know that it's been too long. That baby you had doesn't exist anymore. I've been hunting supernatural ooly-booglies for years. I've loved…and been betrayed. I've kicked whole sale ass for everything from a demon ambush to some random trucker trying to cop a feel. I've been a waitress...and a stripper. I've done what was necessary to survive.

"I'm not a baby. Hell, I'm two years older than you now. I have tattoos and piercings and boobs. Every milestone that I could possibly need a mother for has already come, except marriage and pregnancy and I don't plan on doing either of those.

"I've already gone through those things. And I did it _alone_. It may sound like total bullshit, but I don't really _need_ anybody. I won't lie, I sometimes _want_ somebody in my life that I can trust and count on. Somebody to stitch me up and a grab a drink with me after a fight. But I know that I can survive _without_ someone and I don't trust just anybody."

Erin finished speaking, leaving Faith to contemplate what she said for a bit. The truth in what she said stung, but it was there nevertheless. The slayer was impressed by the maturity and spunk that her daughter…that Erin…showed. Faith couldn't fool herself; her daughter hadn't learned anything from her, but maybe she had inherited a few things. Finally, the slayer exhaled in resignation and cracked her knuckles.

"Damn…I wish I could brag that I raised a strong, independent woman, but I can't bullshit myself into believing it. …Listen…Erin…I know you don't _need_ a mother, and I won't try to be one, but if you _want_ a friend…someone who has your back…I can be that for you," she said.

That was probably the most sentimental Faith had been to anyone besides Robin. Erin nodded.

"I would like that," she said softly. Faith allowed herself a tiny smile. Erin smirked slyly.

"So…who's tall, dark, and handsome?"

* * *

"Do you think it's going well?" Castiel asked hopefully, referring to the reunion of Faith and Erin.

"Years of dating Faith have taught me that she's not the mushy type. She doesn't like to be pushed either. She'll talk when she's ready," Robin responded.

"She seems like one hell of a woman," Dean commented, putting a hand to his formerly broken jaw. Sam chuckled at him.

"Can you blame her? Our mom probably would have done the same thing for us if she was in Faith's position," he said. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, probably. Although I don't think our mom was as strong as Faith is. Damn."

"Superhuman strength comes with the slayer territory," Robin said with a chuckle. Dean glanced quizzically at him in the rearview mirror.

"Slayer? What, you mean like the band?" he asked, his brow furrowed. Robin laughed.

"I take it you've never heard the legends before either? Oh, what was Giles' go-to line? Ah, '_Into every generation a slayer is born_.' …"

* * *

Dean gave a small sigh of relief when they pulled up to the bunker at last. It felt good to be home. He smiled a bit at the thought. In his entire life, he'd never really had very many places to call home. After his mom died, the only place he had ever felt remotely at home was Bobby's house. He swallowed hard at the memory of the grumpy old hunter who was more of a father to him than John had been.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked, bringing Dean out of his trip down memory lane. The older Winchester shook himself and gave his brother a reassuring nod.

"Just glad to be back, Sammy. Just glad to be back," he said as he exited the Impala.

Sam hung back as Robin and Dean headed towards the bunker. Castiel noticed this and raised an eyebrow at him. The younger Winchester responded with a small nod, signaling that he wanted to speak to the angel in private. Once the others were out of earshot, Sam got down to business.

"Castiel? Did something happen on the way here?" he asked, his tone concerned. The angel's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"When I called you about the summoning spell, you said you were on your way with Hannah, but she wasn't with you when you showed up," Sam said. At the mention of the other angel, Castiel's face fell.

"Hannah decided to return to Heaven and she asked that I return her vessel to her family," he answered, his voice solemn.

"Why'd she do that?" Sam asked.

"Guilt. She believed that we should let our vessels get back to their families and have normal lives," the angel replied. "Unfortunately, Jimmy is dead, so I can't let him return to his family."

Castiel decided that was a good time to end the conversation and headed towards the bunker. Sam looked after him, feeling sad for his angelic friend. It was then that he heard the crunch of gravel. He turned to see the Bel Air pulling up to the bunker and what appeared to be Faith and Erin laughing like girlfriends. He allowed himself a small smile. Maybe…if he dared to believe it…there was some hope after all.


	15. Can't Fight the Moonlight

**First of all, I'd like to say that I'm terribly sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time. I've been quite distracted because I've gone back to school (yay!), my husband and I were having some issues (we're good now), my grandfather was diagnosed with prostate cancer and is recovering from surgery, my health has gone downhill, and my sister-in-law has been diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder.**

**On top of all that, our car broke down and it took all of our tax return to fix it and we have medical bills coming in constantly because of all the blood tests that have been run on me to find out what's wrong. I've been rather depressed, which makes it hard for me to figure out what to write. I promise, I will NOT abandon this story; even if it takes me years, I will finish it. All I ask is for my dear readers to be patient with me and—for those of you who pray—to pray for me and my family. Reviews are cool too! ;)**

**I DON'T OWN SUPERNATURAL, BUFFY, OR ANY OTHER POP CULTURE REFERENCES!**

**The song for the last chapter is "Another Brick in the Wall (Part III)" by **_**Pink Floyd**_

* * *

**Chapter 14: Can't Fight the Moonlight**

Life had been rather uneventful since Dean had returned to the bunker. He and Sam had both agreed that taking a break from hunting would be a good idea, but he found himself getting restless. Faith and Robin weren't ready to leave—they had, after all, come a long way to find Erin—and offered to help out with anything the brothers needed. They spent most of the time investigating something called The First Evil and why its Bringers had hunted down Erin. The only thing Dean found odd was Erin's frequent absences.

She usually slept in until ten, grabbed something from the kitchen, and then spent her time in the bunker's recreation room for a couple of hours. After that, she would scarf down a crap ton of food and leave the bunker. She probably thought no one noticed her rolling in sometime after midnight, but Dean was never one to miss anything.

To be honest, the hunter hadn't slept well since his return and he usually found himself watching Netflix around the time that Erin would come back. He had watched her sneak to her room, a long, black coat closed tightly around her and a small backpack slung over her arm. Her feet were usually bare. Why she felt the need to sneak around, Dean couldn't understand. She was an adult, who was going to tell her what she should and should not be doing? On the other hand, Faith was her mother, but then Dean didn't see her as the strict type.

Maybe he was overthinking things, but the older Winchester couldn't help being curious about the woman who had inadvertently saved him. Sam had only told him about the key and the saviour and nothing about who she actually was. Short of that, and the fact that Faith was her mother—something Dean still couldn't wrap his mind around—he knew nothing about her.

The hunter tried to put those thoughts to rest as he lounged by a lake with his brother. Sam had suggested they get away for a few hours to relax and give everyone some breathing room. Dean eagerly agreed. Erin was nowhere to be found when they left. Everyone could tell that her frequent disappearances were beginning to make Faith anxious, though they knew she'd never admit it.

Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his sunglasses and smirked at the sling on his brother's right arm. He couldn't believe that after everything they'd been through, his brother had managed to sprain his wrist. The older of the brothers decided to take the opportunity to tease him for being a wuss.

It was nice, drinking beer with his baby brother. It almost felt like old times, back when they were searching for their dad and taking any case they found along the way. It was much needed. They sat in silence, just savoring the moment.

"How ya doin'?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean swallowed. Leave it to his brother to bring a screeching halt to their relaxation.

"Golden, man," Dean said, trying to end the conversation before it started. He really didn't want to be reminded of just how messed up things were, at least not for another hour.

"C'mon," Sam persisted.

"Seriously, I'm good." Dean tried to sound sincere, but although he was doing better than he had been in a while, he still wasn't a hundred percent. How could he be? Sam worried about him enough, however, and he was determined to put on a good face for his brother. Old habits really did die hard.

The older Winchester twitched in his seat. Despite the need for some downtime, he was itching for some action. He had seen something about a kill in the paper this morning, something his gut told him he shouldn't ignore. Sam argued that it could be an animal kill, but said they could call somebody to go look into it anyway, obviously not wanting to jump back into hunting just yet. Dean fidgeted with his beer bottle.

"Or…" he said hesitantly, "we could be in and out. S' a milk run."

"Right. 'Cuz that happens…ever," Sam pointed out.

Dean sighed and took off his sunglasses, ready to plead with his brother if that's what it took to let him see just a little action to soothe his restlessness.

He pulled the face that always seemed to win over his brother, fighting back a smile when it worked like a charm. He had barely agreed to tell Sam if things started to go sideways before he was up out of his lawn chair and headed back to Baby.

* * *

Dean maneuvered his way through the dark. Once he found was he was looking for, he flicked the switch, illuminating the kitchen with warm lighting. He let out a soft groan and shuffled to the place where they stored their liquor. This last hunt had been hell. Not the worst he'd ever been on, granted, but it still sucked.

He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel's and a glass and brought it to the table in the middle of the room. He flopped onto a stool and poured himself a drink, ready to numb himself from the events of the day. As he was about to take a sip of the amber liquid, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He had a hand on his gun before he realized that it was Erin, coming back from God-knows-where, trying to sneak to her room.

"Sneaking around like that is a good way to get shot around here," Dean said, smirking as Erin froze like a spooked rabbit.

He took a sip of his whiskey and turned his gaze to her, giving her and eyebrow raise. The woman in question brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and gave him a mildly sheepish look. It was easy to see the pink color flooding her cheeks under her pale skin.

"I didn't want to disturb anybody. I wasn't expecting anyone to be awake," she said. Her voice was fairly even, but the way she fidgeted with her trench coat suggested she was fibbing.

"Sam and I just got back. He's probably already in bed," Dean responded, taking another generous sip of his coping mechanism.

"From a hunt?" Erin asked, her tone somewhat curious. Dean nodded as he refilled his glass.

"Fun," she mumbled in response. She stood there awkwardly for a moment. "Well…I'll leave you alone to unwind then."

"You don't have to leave," Dean said as she turned away, causing her to stop in her tracks. He normally preferred to drink alone when he was feeling sullen, but this could be his chance to learn more about this woman, and he was not going to pass it up. Erin raised a dark eyebrow at him.

"What I mean is: you can join me if you like," the Winchester said, trying not to sound too eager.

Erin shrugged and made her way into the kitchen. She grabbed a Mike's Hard Lemonade from the fridge—something they'd never had in the bunker before her arrival—and plopped down on a stool across the table from him, throwing her bag down next to her. Now that she was in better lighting, Dean swore he saw glitter in her hair and on her skin. What _had_ she been up to? She popped the top off of her drink and took a swig. Dean looked at her quizzically.

"Not a fan of whiskey?" he asked, somewhat amused at her drink of choice.

"Not particularly, gives me hang-overs from hell, among other things," she answered.

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, but the look on her face said he was _not_ going to find out what "other things" meant. He backed off for the moment, leaving them to drink in silence. He kept glancing at Erin discreetly, hoping she wouldn't notice. He swore he saw her watching him too, out of the corner of her eye. Dean noticed that she kept one hand beneath the table, presumably in her lap. If he had to guess, he'd say she was probably clutching a weapon in the event that he went black-eyed and tried to attack. Although the implication stung, he really couldn't blame her. If the roles were reversed he'd have done exactly the same.

"So…bad hunt?" Erin asked suddenly.

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked, his brow furrowing.

"Nothing…except that you're on your third glass since I got here," she answered, gesturing to his half empty glass and the rapidly emptying bottle next to him. He'd been drinking and refilling without thinking about it.

Dean sighed and put down the glass, running a hand over his face. "Yeah…bad hunt," he muttered.

Erin's aloof demeanor gave way to a look of concern. Dean noticed her eyes scanning him, likely for any injuries.

"Are you and Sam okay?" she asked, her voice softer than it had been a minute ago. Dean shrugged.

"Yeah, we're okay," he mumbled, swishing the whiskey around in the glass absently.

"Feel like talking about it?" Erin asked quietly. She set aside her drink and leaned closer, resting her chin on her unoccupied hand. Dean was silent, pretending to be interested in the tabletop.

"It was supposed to be a simple werewolf hunt. Just something to ease back into the job, ya know?" he blurted. "But of course it can't ever be that simple!"

"Well of course not. Where's the fun in that?" Erin said with a hint of sarcasm.

Dean looked up at her to see her mouth turned up slightly at the corners. It was the closest he'd come to seeing her smile since that day at the cabin, oddly enough.

"The werewolf responsible was someone we knew. Someone we had let go awhile back," he continued.

"That must have been hard to deal with," Erin responded, sounding surprisingly genuine. Dean wondered if she had killed anyone she'd known personally.

"Well, it wasn't _her_ specifically; it was her sister. She'd turned her to save her life and it ended up coming back to bite her—no pun intended," Dean said. Erin smirked at the joke.

"So what did you do?" she asked.

"Well, we tried to take care of it, but in the end she killed her sister before we could and ran off before we could catch up to her," Dean answered grimly.

"I see. So what part about this is bothering you?" Erin asked, sounding almost like a therapist for a moment.

Dean gulped down the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down hard, making a loud _clink_ on the tabletop. Erin watched him closely, silently waiting.

"All of it!" Dean exclaimed in frustration.

"Well _that_ narrows it down," Erin said. Dean gave her a halfhearted glare.

"I'm pissed that this happened, but what gets me the most is the way Sam acted the entire time we were there. It's like he thought I was a ticking time bomb, just moments away from exploding."

"Not to be a bitch or anything, but can you honestly blame him?" Erin said. Dean sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"That's the worst part—he's right. The whole time we were on the case I was ready to shoot first and ask questions later. I wanted so badly to put a bullet in the bitch that I didn't care that she was human once…that she was someone's sister. Hell, I was ready to blame her sister and shoot her on sight. And that's what I hate. I hate the idea that I'm not ready to go back into hunting just yet. I _hate_ that this damned mark may still be affecting me."

Erin sat and patiently listened as the older Winchester vented his frustrations to her, never interrupting. Admittedly, she wanted to give herself a pat on the back for not being _more_ sarcastic, but she pushed away the thought. She gave Dean a moment to collect himself before she decided it was appropriate to respond.

"I wish there was something I could say to make this better, but I'm not gonna sugarcoat things for you. The mark may still be affecting you and everyone is going to be on their toes around you until we know for sure," she said.

Dean sighed in defeat. He knew this much was true, but he had been trying to avoid thinking about it. He was surprised that even let himself open up this much at all, let alone to someone he didn't know very well. He was startled when he felt Erin place her free hand over his. Her hands were soft and gentle, but there were a few calluses and scars and a firmness he hadn't expected. He looked up at her quizzically.

"I can, however, tell you this: you are not as alone as you _think_ you are. Sam is here for you. Cas is here for you," she paused and locked her grey eyes onto his green ones, "_I'm_ here for you. We will get you through this, but it's gonna take time and there's going to be a lot of shitty moments before it's all over. You just have to trust us. God knows you and your brother have breath-taking trust issues—I mean, seriously, it's the main theme in those Carver Edlund books."

Dean groaned. "You can't seriously tell me you read those?" he asked, making a mental note to burn every last one of those things.

"I may have done a little research," Erin answered with a smirk, "but as I was saying: you _need_ to trust us." Dean looked at her, his face serious.

"Why do you give a damn?" he asked, a challenge in his tone. Erin shrugged.

"Because I do, stupid. I don't _have_ to give you a reason."

Dean held his hands up in surrender and leaned back a bit. All was silent for a few moments as he mulled everything over in his head. At last he exhaled loudly, the tension leaving him for the moment. He looked at Erin, who was taking a swig of her drink, and smirked a bit.

"So tell me, what's this I hear about you spending _thirteen years_ in slavery?" he asked.

Erin's face grew sober and Dean wondered if he had overstepped boundaries by asking such a personal question.

"You sure you're up for a long-ass bedtime story?" she asked. Dean shrugged.

"Sure, why not."

"This doesn't have a happy ending, you know," she pointed out. The older Winchester snorted.

"Nothing ever does when you're a hunter," he replied. Erin sighed.

"Tell you what, lemme get changed into something more comfortable, and if you're really interested, I'll meet you in the library. Okay?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good. I'll get the popcorn ready," he said with a smile.

"Popcorn?" Erin asked as she got up from the stool.

"Of course. A story this interesting needs junk food," Dean answered, as if it were obvious.

Erin rolled her eyes, but she had a small smile as she did so.

* * *

A few minutes later, Dean was lounging on one of the couches in the library with a bowl of extra buttery popcorn in his lap. He thought he was going to fall asleep before Erin came back when the woman in question entered the room wearing a Deadpool t-shirt and matching pajama shorts.

The Winchester nodded in approval while she wasn't looking and moved so she could sit next to him. He noticed that she was also wearing a necklace with a large silver leaf pendant. It was something he'd seen her wear all the time, but he wondered why she still had it on now that she had changed into pajamas. She sat down and curled up, grabbing a fistful of popcorn and cramming it all in her mouth at once. Dean snorted in amusement as he waited for her to start her life story.

"So you wanna know all the gory details?" she asked, sucking butter off her fingers. Dean smiled.

"Please. Gory details are the best part of any story."

Erin grinned. "You asked for it."

She spent the next hour or so telling him everything she'd told Sam, gesturing with her hands and making dramatic pauses just to see his reactions. He did good at looking amused and appalled at the appropriate times. When she had finished, she stretched her legs out, barely able to rest her feet on the coffee table, and ate another mouthful of popcorn.

"Wow. I thought the way Sammy and I grew up was hell, but I think you actually got us beat," Dean said, still thoroughly amazed.

"Not trying to win a contest here, just telling you what went down," Erin said with a nonchalant shrug.

"How did you manage to learn how to survive, much less become a hunter, after being enslaved for so long?" he asked.

"I spent most of my time in libraries. I learned how to read before the slavery thing and libraries are free as long as you don't take anything home. I started with children's books and worked my way up from there. I prefer fiction, especially fantasy like _Harry Potter_, _Lord of the Rings_, and _The Chronicles of Narnia_, just to name a few, but I also read a lot of how-to books and biographies. I really like reading books about famous serial killers," Erin answered. Dean raised an eyebrow at her.

"That's a rather dark interest you have there."

"Maybe, but it reminds me that the _real_ monsters in this world are humans, not the things that go bump in the night. Gives you an insight to the mind of a killer and really helps with hunting," Erin said.

Dean was quiet. Although he couldn't argue, he was bothered to see someone else who had been sucked in to the life of a hunter and all the grim realizations that came with it. Erin seemed so bright, who knew what she could have become had she been given a chance at a normal life? He knew, however, that it was too late for that; he knew first hand that it was damn near impossible to walk away from this kind of life once you'd been in it for so long.

Dean scrutinized Erin as she sat there, contentedly munching on popcorn. In her current outfit, it was easy to see many of her scars and tattoos. He grimaced when he saw that she still had scars from the meat hooks he had used on her. Erin noticed this and followed his gaze to her thighs.

"Pretty nasty looking huh?" she said, gesturing to all the scars she had. Dean quickly shook his head.

"No! That's not it at all! It's just…I'm sorry for what I did to you," he responded, pointing to the places where the meat hooks had been.

"I've been through worse, believe it or not," she said.

She lifted her right leg so that the back of her thigh was visible and gestured to the long, jagged scars that started from just under her butt and went all the way to her knees.

"That's from the hellhounds," she said as she put her leg back down. Dean winced; his assumptions had been right.

"I'm sorry. … I know what that's like."

"I know you do. I read the book," Erin said, smirking a little. The Winchester groaned and leaned his head back.

"If Chuck wasn't already dead, I'd kill him," he mumbled.

Erin laughed at him. Dean opened his eyes at the sound at turned his gaze towards her. He had never actually heard her laugh before. In truth, it was a rather obnoxious laugh. It started loud, almost like a goose honking, and died down to giggling that was periodically interrupted by snorts. Even so, it made him smile and he couldn't resist laughing a little himself.

As Erin regained her composure, Dean resumed his scrutiny of her. This time he took notes of the tattoos that he could see. Peeking out from her shorts on the outside of her right thigh was a tumbling vine with daffodils. He wondered how far up the tattoo went and felt his face warm at the thought. On her right foot she had what appeared to be a feather quill with the words "_We're all stories in the end_" in quotations. He tucked that phrase away in his mind to ponder later.

The last tattoo he saw—if she had more they were in places he would never see—was on the inside of her left forearm. It said: "_And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may, in fact, be the first steps of a journey._" It was a rather lengthy quote for such a small area, but she had pulled it off. Dean thought about those words for several long moments; they had struck a chord somewhere inside him and he was lost to the mixture of emotions that it presented.

He was removed from his thoughts by the sound of Erin yawning, which reminded him that he was exhausted and tipsy from the alcohol. He answered her yawn with one of his own and stretched.

"Well, this has been fun, but I'm gonna hit the sack," Dean said, standing up and trying to regain the feeling in his legs.

"Yeah, I've got a date with my pillow," Erin replied, hopping up from the couch and shuffling off towards the door. "G'night, Dean," she said over her shoulder.

"'Night...Erin." By the time he'd said her name, she was already out of earshot.


	16. Jukebox Heroes

**I'm incredibly excited to be doing this chapter because it takes place during the season 10 episode **_**Fanfiction**_**. I only hope I can do it justice. This will be a musical "episode" but as I am terrible at writing songs, none of the songs being sung will be original works. Sorry guys. Also, I know **_**Fanfiction**_** aired on November 11****th****, but I'm going to place this part of the story on Halloween to make things more interesting.**

**Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated and I don't own any of the songs or TV shows used! Enjoy!**

**The song for the last chapter is "Can't Fight the Moonlight" from **_**Coyote Ugly**_**.**

_Italics = thoughts and emphasized words_

**Bold = singing**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Jukebox Heroes**

It was only seven in the morning that Halloween day, but two of the bunker's inhabitants had been up for a while now. In rooms just down the hall from each other Dean and Erin lay in their beds, staring up at the ceiling. Both of them had suffered from nightmares and insomnia for what seemed like forever, but the last night had been particularly bad.

Every time Erin had begun to doze off, images of black-eyed demons and robed Bringers haunted her.

Dean couldn't close his eyes without seeing the faces of the people he'd killed or inadvertently harmed.

Their eyes were bloodshot and burning, but they could not close them, for fear of what they would see.

As Erin curled on her side, hugging a pillow close to her body, Dean was starting the day off with a bottle of his favorite coping mechanism. He reached over to one of his bedside tables and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, opened it, and took a swig. Today was not a day to care about using a glass.

Music began to play softly from an unknown source. Dean and Erin knew it was there, but for some reason it felt like a normal, everyday thing; something done reflexively, though a part of their minds screamed that this was wrong.

Dean opened his mouth, and as though it were second nature, began to sing to his empty bedroom.

"**I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real. …"**

Erin felt the urge to sing out what she was thinking fill every fiber of her being. She couldn't resist it, though it didn't feel like an unusual thing for someone to do. Her lips parted and the words flowed out of her without effort.

"**I've been looking in the mirror for so long that I've come to believe my soul's on the other side. All the little pieces falling shatter; shards of me too sharp to put back together. …"**

Dean took another swig from the bottle as he looked down at the mark on his arm. It was still there, albeit faded, even though the hand print around it had all but healed.

"…**Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything…"**

Erin sat up in bed and looked at her reflection in the small mirror that she had placed on her dresser. Her hair was still messy from her attempt at sleep and there were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.

"**Too small to matter, but big enough to cut me into so many little pieces if I try to touch her…"**

The music seemed to follow them as they both entered the communal bathroom, not really noticing each other despite their singing, and went to the shower stalls they had each claimed, pulling their respective curtains closed.

"—**What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone knows I go away in the end."**

"—**And I bleed…I bleed. And I breathe…I breathe no more."**

The scents of Old Spice and sandalwood with violets mixed together in the warm, moist air as well as the gruff voice of the older Winchester brother and the low soprano/ high alto of Erin.

"—**I wear this crown of thorns upon my liar's chair, full of broken thoughts I cannot repair."**

"—**Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirit's well. Yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child. Lie to me, convince me I've been sick forever and all of this will make sense when I get better."**

"—**What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone knows I go away in the end."**

"—**And I breathe…I breathe no…"**

"—**If I could start again…"**

"—**And I breathe…I breathe…"**

"—**A million miles away…"**

"—**I would keep myself…"**

"—**I breathe no more."**

"—**I would find a way."**

Dean and Erin exited the showers simultaneously as the music faded away, both of them wrapped in towels. They stood staring at each other awkwardly in silence.

"Did you hear that?" Dean finally asked, breaking the silence.

"The music?" Erin asked, confirming his suspicions that maybe it wasn't all in his head.

"Yeah. And were you—"

"—singing? I believe so."

"This is freaky," Dean said, trying to keep his eyes on Erin's face rather than her wet skin and toweled body.

"Tell me about it," she said with a snort.

"So what do we do? Should we tell somebody?" the Winchester asked, feeling as though he would never live it down if he revealed his little musical number to his brother.

"Maybe we should see if anyone else is affected first?" Erin suggested.

"Good plan."

* * *

When Dean and Erin joined everyone in the kitchen, it was clear that something had happened. Faith was even more tight lipped than usual and refused to look anyone in the eye, Robin had just finished making pancakes and had the air of one who had been caught singing to their hair brush, Sam was drinking coffee in the corner, his eyes shifty, and Castiel looked rather amused, considering his usual blank expressions.

"Good morning!" Erin said, trying to sound more cheerful than she actually felt. "How is everyone?"

The question was met with awkward silence. Castiel started laughing, much to the surprise of everyone in the room.

"Cas? Are you okay?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

"I'm sorry, I should not be laughing as there is clearly something supernatural going on here, but I just…can't…" the angel trailed off into another fit of laughter.

Even Erin, who hadn't known the angel for more than a couple weeks, looked concerned for his wellbeing.

"What Cas is trying to say is that…well you see…" Sam spoke up, but trailed off awkwardly, looking horribly embarrassed.

"Spit it out, Sam," Dean said, his patience wearing thin. It was too early in the morning for shenanigans.

"Well…we all seem to have been put under a curse of some sort," Sam said, scratching his neck. Erin rolled her eyes, ready to get on with things.

"Lemme guess: everyone came down with a case of Broadway fever this morning, complete with singing and _possibly_ dancing?" she said bluntly.

Everyone looked to each other, then to her and Dean, their eyes wide.

"We thought it was just us," Robin said, looking relieved that it wasn't, in fact, just him.

"Nope. We got our shower karaoke on this morning too," Erin said. Sam raised an eyebrow at her and his brother.

"You were showering together?"

"No!" Dean and Erin exclaimed simultaneously, their faces turning pink.

"We were both showering at the same time, but we didn't use the same shower!" Dean explained, though it only served to make Sam give him a teasing smirk.

"Uh-huh," the younger Winchester said, refilling his coffee.

"Do you think this warrants investigating?" Robin asked, sitting down next to Faith and sipping some orange juice.

"Hell yeah it does! I don't want to spend the rest of my life belting out random show tunes!" Dean said as he sat down at the table and began to pile pancakes on a plate.

"Am I the only one wondering why Castiel doesn't seem absolutely mortified right now?" Erin asked, gesturing to the angel with her fork as she grabbed herself some breakfast and sat down between Faith and Dean.

"That's because I didn't sing," the angel replied, looking rather smug. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you saying you haven't been affected?" he asked, perturbed.

"I'm an angel, remember? Most curses do not usually affect me," Castiel replied, still smiling.

"I'd knock that look off your face, Mister, before I use your feathers to stuff my pillows," Erin threatened through a mouthful of pancakes.

It was hard to tell if she was kidding or not. Nevertheless, her comment made Dean nearly snort coffee up his nose. The hunter choked and sputtered, but finally managed to compose himself.

"I'm gonna go give Baby some attention before I end up a witness to an angel murder," he said. He put his plate in the sink and left the room, his mood considerably lightened.

"Who's Baby?" Erin asked, looking confused.

"That's what he calls the Impala," Sam clarified. Erin raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing and continued to eat her breakfast.

* * *

Erin was finishing up the dishes she had volunteered to do, when Dean came into the kitchen. He paused, looking at her quizzically.

"You don't have to clean up after us, ya know," he said. Erin shrugged and put the last dish in the dish rack to dry.

"I know. I volunteered. I happen to enjoy cleaning." Dean gave her a horrified look.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Do you want the novel or the Reader's Digest version?" Erin asked sarcastically. Dean smirked and shook his head.

"Never mind, that's not what I came here for. I actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go on a hunt with Sam and me," he said. Erin looked at him in surprise.

"Really? Why?" she asked.

"Why not? You're a hunter too. I'm kinda interested to see what you're like on the job," Dean responded, decidedly leaving out the part about Sam wanting an extra person to help keep an eye on him.

"Okay, cool. What are we hunting?" Erin asked.

"Don't know yet. We're investigating the disappearance of a teacher at this all-girls high school," Dean answered. Erin put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's not a whole lot to go on. Wouldn't we be better off investigating the source of our morning musical numbers?"

"Faith and Robin are looking into it, but we can't ignore the possibility that this is our kinda thing and let someone get hurt," Dean answered. Erin nodded in understanding.

"Alright, what's our cover story?"

"Well Sam and I are probably going with our usual FBI covers. Maybe you could be a journalist or something?" Dean suggested. Erin shrugged.

"Okay. Meet you boys at the car in ten?"

Dean nodded and the two of them went to their respective rooms to prepare for the hunt.

* * *

The boys were leaning on the Impala, waiting for Erin, when the door to the bunker finally opened. Sam got in the car as he saw her approach, but Dean was rather distracted by her choice of attire. Her apple-red hair was covered by a brunette wig that fell to her jawline in a neat bob. She wore a tasteful, dark grey, business suit and black pumps. The suit was well-fitted and Dean was wondering how she planned to conceal any weapons under it. Erin wore her usual silver leaf necklace as well as a pair of faux cat-eye glasses. Dean didn't realize that he was staring until she was just an arm's length away.

"Are we gonna get going?" she asked, snapping the older Winchester out of his daze.

"Yeah, of course," he mumbled, getting into the driver's seat. Erin got in behind the driver's seat and they took off towards the high school.

* * *

Erin bit her lip until she tasted blood, trying her hardest not to die laughing. The trio of hunters had arrived at the school, only to walk in on a rehearsal for a play—about the lives of Sam and Dean, in _musical_ form.

Both brothers looked equally horrified, but Dean's visage was by far the funnier one. His green eyes were wide and the look on his face suggested he probably thought someone had slipped acid into his morning coffee. Erin snickered slightly, earning a glare from Dean.

"What in the holy f—"

"If there is a case, it probably has something to do with all this," Sam said, cutting Dean off.

"Ya think?" the older brother snapped.

"I'm _so_ glad you guys asked me to come along for this!" Erin said, nearly bouncing where she stood.

"You're never gonna let this go are you?" Dean asked.

"Nope!" Erin replied popping the P at the end. "So what are we thinking? Any theories?"

That's when the music started, and this time it wasn't coming from the stage.

"**I've got a theory that it's a demon! A dancing demon, no something isn't right there," **Sam started to sing.

Erin and Dean looked at each other in horror, but couldn't fight the pull of the music.

"**I've got a theory! Some kid is dreaming and we're all stuck inside his wacky Broadway nightmare!"** Erin added.

"**I've got a theory we should work this out,"** Dean sang.

"**It's getting eerie. What's this cheery singing all about?"** the trio sang together.

"**It could be witches! Some evil witches!"** Dean exclaimed in song.

Just as Sam opened his mouth to sing, the music cut off abruptly and two of the students approached them.

"Are you guys from the publisher?" a girl wearing a beret asked anxiously. "I'm Marie, the writer slash director and this is Maeve my stage manager," she gestured to the girl next to her, "and that was just a dr—" Marie trailed off when Sam flashed his fake FBI badge at her.

Sam looked up and saw two of the actors brandishing fake IDs and quickly stopped Dean from retrieving his.

"I'm special agent Smith and this is my partner agent—"

"Smith," Dean said quickly.

"No relation," Sam said awkwardly as he put his ID back in his pocket.

"And you are?" Marie asked, looking at Erin with her eyebrow arched. Erin gave her a look that clearly said "watch your tone" and stepped forward.

"Sasha Grey, journalist," she said. Dean coughed as Erin said her fake name—a name he was quite familiar with.

"We're here to look into the disappearances—"

"There is no singing in Supernatural!" Dean exclaimed, cutting his brother off. Erin snorted derisively.

"Well this is Marie's interpretation," Maeve said, staring at him awkwardly. Dean laughed.

"Well if there _was_ singing, ya know and that's a _big_ 'if', it would be classic rock—not this Andrew Floyd Webber crap!" he said.

"Andrew _Lloyd_ Webber," Erin and Sam whispered simultaneously.

"Well we do sing a cover of _Carry On Wayward Son_ in the second act," Marie said proudly.

"Really?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"It's a classic!" Erin and Dean said together, looking at him like he had blasphemed. They glanced at each other, surprised that they'd spoken together.

"Anyways…we're here to talk about the disappearance of Mrs. Chandler. Any chance you two saw her before she vanished?" Sam asked, getting down to business. Erin got out a notepad and pen, fully committed to role as a journalist.

Marie explained that Mrs. Chandler had been through a nasty divorce recently and spent most of her time drunk and passed out. The trio split up, Sam getting a tour with Maeve, Dean checking out Mrs. Chandler's office, and Erin questioning the students.

* * *

It was dark outside when the trio of hunters left the school and went back to their motel room. The only thing they had found the entire time was a small, purple-blue flower, right next to a scorch mark shaped like a person. Erin and Sam started researching while Dean changed and went out to get them some dinner.

"What leaves behind purple flowers _and_ scorches marks?" Erin asked, exhaustion in her voice. She was slumped in front of her laptop clicking back and forth between several different tabs.

"I have no idea. Nothing Dean and I have ever come across before at least," Sam replied, running his hands over his face. Erin let her head fall to the table with a _thump_. She stood up suddenly.

"I'm gonna go get some air. I'll be back," she said as she began shoving weapons into her clothes.

"Just be careful, we still don't know if more Bringers are after you," Sam said as he flashed his "concerned puppy" look.

"Always am," Erin said over her shoulder as she headed out the door. She took a deep breath, letting the crisp, October air fill her lungs and clear her mind. She picked a direction and began to wander.

As she walked, she thought over what had transpired in her life lately. Her mind wandered back to the day Dean had been cured of his demonic nature. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember what had happened after he had stabbed her. She remembered forgiving him right before her world went dark, but after that there was a blank spot in her mind. She had woken up in his arms, all of her wounds mostly healed, a detail she had neglected to think about until now.

Erin thought about where Dean had stabbed her—right in the solar plexus at an angle of _about_ 118 degrees, give or take. How in the hell had she survived that? Had Castiel done something to her when he'd healed her from the Bringer attack? She made a mental note to ask him about it later. Unfortunately, her thoughts were interrupted as strains of music began to fade in from nowhere and everywhere.

Erin groaned inwardly, knowing that she couldn't fight it if she tried. She noted, however, that she didn't feel the urge to sing. She looked around, but she was completely alone. Cool winds blew through the bare trees, adding to the eeriness of it all. The sky was bathed in silvery light from the full moon, which appeared to have a rather peculiar looking shadow on it tonight. The hair on her neck stood up on end as a chill ran down her spine. The shadows seemed to move as if they were alive as the music grew more intense.

"**Boys and girls of every age, wouldn't you like to see something strange? Come with us and you will see, on this night of Halloween!"**

Erin's eyes widened as the shadows and nearby trees sang to her. She had one hand inside her jacket, clutching at a gun, but it wouldn't do much good if she remained frozen in place.

"**This is Halloween! This is Halloween!" **shrieked the shadows.

"**Pumpkins scream in the dead of night!" **sang the random Jack-o'-Lanterns that decorated the motel.

"**This is Halloween! Everybody make a scene! Trick or treat 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright!"**

A nearby oak tree, old and gnarled with age sang in a deep voice, **"It's our town! Everybody scream, in this town of Halloween!"**

Erin let out a soft yelp and ran back to the motel room. She threw the door open, expecting to startle Sam. The younger Winchester, however, had already heard the music and was being serenaded by something under one of the beds.

"**I am the one hiding under your bed! Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red!"**

"Sam, what the hell is going on here!?" Erin exclaimed, her voice shrill.

"I don't know! The whole world has been infected by this madness!" the younger Winchester answered as he made sure his gun was loaded, keeping his eyes on the beds.

A clown appeared outside of the window of their room, singing, **"I am the clown with the tear-away face!"** he tore his face off for emphasis, **"Here in a flash and gone without a trace!"**

Sam screamed in horror at the clown and shot at the window, only to find the clown had already disappeared. Erin shuddered; she too, was not a fan of clowns.

"**This is Halloween, this is Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!"**

Erin turned and looked outside; the shadows were writhing to the music. Nearby, a black cat ran and perched on top of a metal trashcan.

"**Round that corner, man hiding in a trashcan! Something's waiting now to pounce, and how you'll scream!"**

Erin pulled out her gun to fire off a few rounds and the trashcan, but was stopped by Sam lowering her hands. He shook his head at her.

"We don't want to draw attention to ourselves," He whispered through the music. Erin gave him a look that said "you just shot at a window", but nevertheless lowered her gun.

"**This is Halloween, red n' black, slimy green! Aren't you scared? Well that's just fine! Say it once, say it twice! Take a chance and roll the dice! Ride with the moon in the dead of night!"**

A voice carried on the wind sang quietly in their ears as their hair whipped their faces. **"I am the 'who' when you call, 'Who's there?' I am the wind blowing through your hair!"**

Erin and Sam stood back to back, weapons ready. The shadow on the moon began to move, revealing a Cheshire cat-like grin. Erin nudged Sam and nodded towards the moon, the two of them stared in comical horror.

"**I am the shadow on the moon at night, filling your dreams to the brim with fright!"**

Erin felt like her head was spinning. She had never done drugs before, but the idea of an acid trip seemed much less appealing after a night like this. Not that it had ever seemed particularly appealing _before_. _And to think, I've always wanted to celebrate this crazy holiday!_ She thought.

"**This is Halloween! This is Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!"**

Finally, the music faded out and everything appeared to be back to normal. The shadows were still and the wind had ceased. Sam checked under the beds, but nothing was there. Erin made sure all the wards and salt lines were in place and then grabbed a strong drink from the mini fridge to calm her nerves.

Neither of them wanted to talk about what happened when Dean arrived with food. They ate in awkward silence and then retreated to bed. Dean offered to sleep on the small couch so Sam and Erin could each have beds. Not that it mattered—Sam and Erin didn't sleep a wink all night.

* * *

The next morning, the trio returned to the school, this time to investigate the disappearance of a student named Maggie. All they found at the scene was another purple flower, but a distraught Marie claimed she saw a life-sized ventriloquist dummy kidnap the girl and disappear. Sam and Dean shared looks of skepticism, Erin paled at the mention of dummies.

After trying, and failing, to convince Marie and Maeve that they were really the Winchesters, but successfully convincing them of the existence of monsters, the group started brainstorming on what kind of creature could be behind the disappearances. The hunters thought about leaving out their singing episodes until Marie and Maeve both admitted to having the same problem.

"Do you have any props for the play that look like life-size dummies?" Erin asked.

"No, why?" Marie replied.

"I thought maybe we could be dealing with a Tulpa, although that doesn't explain the flowers, the scorch mark, and the 'bouts of the hokey pokey," Erin answered.

"I think I found something," Sam said, laying an open book on the table. "Calliope, the Muse."

The others gathered around the book as Sam explained about Calliope the Muse. Apparently her favorite snack was authors.

"I recognize the flower, and it explains why people who tried to stop the play from happening were taken, but I don't see how this explains the scorch mark we found or the ventriloquist dummies and episodes of singing," Erin said with a frown.

"I don't either, but it's all we have to go on so far," Sam said.

At that moment, Erin's cell phone rang. She excused herself and took the call.

"Hello?"

"Erin? It's Robin," said the voice on the other end.

"Robin, hey. Have you found anything yet?" Erin asked.

"Well…_we_ didn't, but Faith called Giles to see if he could make heads or tails of this and he told her about an unnamed demon that Xander accidentally summoned a few years ago in Sunnydale," Robin answered.

"Does it sound like our guy?" Erin asked hopefully.

"I believe so. When he came to Sunnydale, everybody came down with the same singing curse we have, but there's something else too."

"What?" Erin asked, feeling dread well up in her stomach.

"Well he doesn't just make you sing, he makes you sing out your deepest secrets; any thoughts or feelings that you keep concealed. Then there's the _really_ bad part: people who are afflicted have a nasty habit of singing and dancing until they spontaneously combust," Robin explained.

"Joy," Erin muttered. "Did she say how he was defeated last time?"

"He wasn't. Buffy confronted him, but she couldn't touch him without him manipulating her. In the end, he left of his own accord, but he mistook Dawn as the person who summoned him and almost took her as his child-bride."

Erin paled at the news, fidgeting anxiously with her silver leaf knife.

"Well, thank you for your help, Robin. I'll tell the boys about this and we'll go from there. Bye," Erin said, pressing the "end call" button. She took a deep breath and made her way back to the group.

"So that was Robin, he thinks he knows who we're dealing with," she said, launching into the explanation that Robin had given her. Sam and Dean looked less than thrilled about having a mysterious, possibly unkillable, demon on their hands.

"But what about the flowers?" Marie asked.

"I hate to say this…but maybe we're dealing with both?" Erin suggested, chewing on her lip. Sam and Dean both grimaced at the idea of dealing with not one, but two powerful monsters at once.

"Okay. So what do we do?" Dean asked, wanting to gank the bastards as soon as possible.

* * *

Since the play would not be performed until that night the trio of hunters retreated back to their motel room to prepare. Sam had gone out to find a blessed wooden stake—the only thing that could kill Calliope—leaving Erin and Dean to try to find out more about the demon they were up against. They had been researching in silence for about an hour, when Dean noticed that Erin seemed distracted.

"Is everything okay?" he asked hesitantly. Erin looked up from her laptop at him. For a moment, she was quiet and Dean could tell that she was deciding what to tell him. Finally, she pushed her laptop away and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"What happened to me after you stabbed me?" she asked. Her question caught Dean off guard; he hadn't expected her to be honest with him, or to bring up such a sore subject.

"What do you mean?" he asked, deciding to play dumb.

"That day at the cabin, you flew into a rage and stabbed me with a knife. In the solar plexus. I've read plenty of books on anatomy—you stabbed me through my _liver and heart_. Now tell me how I survived that," Erin explained.

Dean swallowed hard as she stared at him, unblinking, her gunmetal grey eyes boring into his green ones.

"I…I don't know," he said slowly.

"Bullshit," Erin said harshly. "You're a horrible liar, Dean."

The hunter in question sighed in defeat. Had the situation not been so serious, he would have found it amusing that Erin could spot his lies better than his own brother _and_ his angelic friend.

"You didn't survive it," Dean said quietly. Erin stared at him for a long moment, her face paling at the implications.

"I…died? … But then…how am I here now?" she asked slowly, her brow furrowing. Dean ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"You came back," he answered.

"Well no shit, Sherlock! What was your first clue?" Erin spat. "The question is _how_ did I come back?"

"Apparently, you're not _allowed_ to die until you've completed your job or your destiny or something like that," Dean explained.

"I'm not _allowed_?" Erin asked slowly, looking utterly confused.

"That's what Death himself told me," the older Winchester replied. Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Death was there? As in _the_ Grim Reaper? The daddy of all reapers?" she questioned in disbelief. Dean nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah. He showed up to make sure…I…uh…wouldn't…bury you. At least I think that's why he showed up. Coulda' been just to mock me."

Erin was silent for several, achingly long moments. Dean fidgeted nervously, unable to look at her, wondering if she would speak and what she would say. After what felt like hours—when it was only two minutes—she stood up and made her way toward the door.

"I need some air," she said over her shoulder.

She walked outside and closed the door behind her before Dean had a chance to respond. The older Winchester brother sighed and let his head fall into his hands. He never knew that one person could feel so much guilt all at once.

* * *

Erin wandered aimlessly, a myriad of thoughts swimming around in her head. Not only had she discovered that she was some sort of key, but she'd also died because the Powers That Be decided that she had a job to do, one she was not allowed to walk out of. She clenched her fists, refusing to let herself cry.

She was beyond angry; how dare someone meddle with her life like that! On the other hand, she was also distraught; she already had fears that maybe she wasn't quite human since Castiel told her she was a key, but now it seemed like maybe she was not human at all.

"Maybe all I am is a key. A soulless…_thing_…a _pawn_ for the Fates to use," Erin muttered to herself. She cursed inwardly when she heard music surround her. _I swear I'm going to beat the snot out of the demon responsible for this._

"**I still remember the world from the eyes of a child. Slowly, those feelings were clouded by what I know now," **she sang to no one. At least this was a rock ballad.

"**Where has my heart gone? An uneven trade for the real world. Oh, I…I want to go back to believing in everything and knowing nothing at all."**

She continued walking, even though the sun was setting and she was only armed with her necklace. Erin couldn't find it in her to care at the moment. _It's not like I can die anyway,_ she thought bitterly. _Only humans die._

"**I still remember the sun; always warm on my back. Somehow, it seems colder now. Where has my heart gone? Trapped in the eyes of a stranger. Oh I...I want to go back to  
believing in everything. …"**

* * *

Dean waited anxiously for Erin to return, but hours passed and there was still no sign of her. When Sam returned with a blessed stake, she was still gone.

Immediately, the younger Winchester knew something was wrong. His brother was wearing his brooding face as he nursed a glass of whiskey.

"Where's Erin?" he asked, looking concerned.

"She said she needed air," Dean said quietly. Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why do I feel like there's more to it than that?"

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe it's because I'm a horrible liar? Maybe it's because she found out that she can't die unless she does whatever the hell it is she's supposed to do!" Dean exclaimed. Sam looked at him quizzically.

"What?"

Dean told Sam about the visit from Death shortly after Erin had cured him and about the conversation that lead to her leaving. Sam sighed. _My brother certainly has a way with women_, he thought sarcastically.

"We need to find her," he said at last.

"Where do we even look? She could be anywhere by now! She could've been attacked by something. She could be coming back from the dead as we speak!" Dean exclaimed in frustration.

"We could call Cas," Sam suggested, wondering why Dean hadn't done so already. The older Winchester looked embarrassed for not having thought of it himself.

"Cas!" he yelled at the ceiling.

"No need to yell, Dean," Castiel said, appearing behind the boys. He looked rather tired, as if he was low on grace again.

"We need you to find Erin. She went out over an hour ago and we haven't seen or heard from her since," Dean said. Castiel gave him a quizzical stare.

"Did you try calling her?" he asked as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. Dean looked down at the floor.

"We're not sure she'll answer us right now," Sam said, giving the angel an "I'll explain later" stare. Castiel nodded.

"Very well then," and with that he was gone.

* * *

Castiel found Erin in a bar, drowning her sorrows with one shot after another. Each time she threw back a shot, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. It didn't taste good, but she hoped it would do the job. The angel put a hand on her shoulder, hoping he wouldn't startle her too much. Erin looked up at him with a blank stare, but said nothing.

"Sam and Dean are worried about you. They sent me to find you."

"Well, you found me," she said, waving dismissively. "Ta, ta."

Castiel frowned. Before Erin could blink, the angel had transported both of them outside of the motel. Erin's head swam and she nearly toppled over, but Castiel—tired as he was—managed to keep her upright.

"Son of a bitch! Warn me next time you do that!" she grumbled.

"Erin, what is wrong? Clearly, something is bothering you," Castiel said, looking as concerned he possibly could. Erin ran her hands through her hair and exhaled loudly through her nose.

"It doesn't matter. I'm just a key, remember?" she said quietly. Castiel's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean 'just a key'?" he asked.

"I mean exactly what I said. I'm not a person; I'm a mystical ball of energy, shoved into a body, forced into a destiny that I want nothing to do with!" Erin exclaimed.

"I see," the angel said quietly, his visage one of sudden understanding.

He stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He felt like, as someone who wasn't human, anything he said would be called invalid. He was at a loss. Castiel was almost out of grace and was horribly exhausted. The less grace he had, the closer he came to dying a slow, miserable death. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him, though it would take all the grace he had left.

"Hold still," he told Erin, closing the distance between them and putting a hand over her heart.

Erin tried to back away, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden closeness, but the angel held her by the shoulder with his other hand. She watched curiously as Castiel closed his eyes. His hand started to glow and as it did, Erin felt something stir deep inside her. At first, she thought another musical number was about to occur, but she soon realized that the feeling was _much_ different than the urge to sing.

"You feel that? That's your soul. Everything that makes you who you are since the moment God made you is still in there. It always has been," Castiel said softly.

Erin felt tears begin to gather in her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. The angel stopped glowing and removed his hand from her chest. It took everything he had not to collapse right then and there.

"Why was I chosen?" she asked quietly. Castiel put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"No one knows why they are chosen for anything. It could have been anyone," he said.

Out of nowhere, a soft melody began to play. Castiel looked around in confusion when he felt the urge to sing take hold of him. This wasn't supposed to happen! He was an angel of the Lord! Against his will, his lips parted and he began to sing.

"**As you go through life you'll see there is so much that we don't understand. And the only thing we know is things don't always go the way we planned. But you'll see every day that we'll never turn away when it seems all your dreams come undone. We will stand by your side, filled with hope and filled with pride. We are more than we are. We are one."**

Erin bit her lip to keep herself from laughing hysterically at the panicked look on the angel's face as he sang off key in his gravelly voice. Unfortunately, the impulse to sing took hold of her as well.

"**If there's so much I must be can I still just be me, the way I am? Can I trust in my own heart or am I just one part of some big plan?"** she sang as she stared at her reflection in one of the motel windows.

"**Even those who are gone are with us as we go on. Your journey has only begun. Tears of pain, tears of joy…deep inside, we are one. … All the wisdom to lead, all the courage that you need, you will find when you see: we are one."**

As the music faded Castiel gave Erin a pleading look and said, "Let us never speak of this to Sam and Dean." Erin snickered, but nodded in agreement.

* * *

Sam and Dean both stood up as soon as Erin and Castiel walked through the door. The relief they felt was almost tangible. The angel simply nodded, then flopped down on one of the beds and fell asleep instantly. Erin smiled at him and shook her head.

"Are you guys okay?" Sam asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, we're good," she replied.

Then, to Sam's surprise, she hugged him. It was short and soft, but held so much meaning. Once the shock wore off, he smiled and reciprocated the hug. He felt like he was being hugged by a child since Erin was a little more than a foot shorter than him. Erin pulled away from him and turned her attention to Dean, who had been hanging back, looking guilty. She closed the distance between them silently, making the older brother anxious. She stood there for a moment, staring at him, waiting for him to look back at her. Sam sensed that it was a private moment and went outside to wait in the Impala.

"Dean?" Erin asked softly.

Dean looked down at her, his eyes filled with regret. He looked like he was using everything he had to hold it together.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his usually gruff voice cracking a tiny bit.

Erin stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around him in a firm hug. Dean froze, unsure of what to do.

"I forgive you, Dean," Erin whispered as close to his ear as she could get on her tiptoes.

Those words sent a warm feeling through the hunter that he hadn't felt in…well he really could not remember the last time he had felt that way. This was the first time she had ever said his name and it got to him more than he liked to admit. A single tear slipped down his cheek and he brushed it away roughly before she could see it. Erin pulled away and looked up at him.

"Now, let's go kill a Muse," she said with a small smirk. Dean nodded and followed her out the door, still in a daze.

* * *

"**Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more."**

Sam, Dean, and Erin watched the end of the play from the wings in profound silence. The song resonated deeply within them all, but none so much as the brothers. As they watched the likenesses of those they'd loved and lost sing, they allowed themselves a few silent tears.

"**Once I rose above the noise and confusion, just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion, I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high."**

Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to save everyone. Calliope had said that Mrs. Chandler had burned to death, singing about divorce, as she was preparing to abduct her. The loss stung, as they always did. The demon responsible for the singing curse was nowhere to be found, which meant that they were not quite out of the woods yet. They still had no idea what to do when they found him.

"**Masquerading as a man with a reason, my charade is the event of the season. And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means I don't know."**

A soft voice sang along quietly nearby. When Sam and Dean looked around, they realized the source of the singing was Erin. Whether she sang because she wanted to or because of the curse, they didn't know. Her voice wasn't perfect, it tended to crack at the higher notes, but they enjoyed it all the same.

"**Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more. … Carry on."**

The play having finished successfully, the trio made their way towards the exit of the theater. As Erin turned back to look back one more time, she saw Marie and Maeve talking to a bearded man. He was probably a publisher, judging by the way Marie was stammering excitedly. Erin smiled and followed the brothers out to the car.

* * *

After several hours of driving, the trio decided it would be best to stop for the night and finish their trek back to the bunker later. Dean knew he had been driving too long when the faux "Samulet" hanging from the rearview mirror started to blur. They pulled into a motel and Dean and Erin gathered a few things while Sam checked them in. When he returned, he handed them the keys and took the Impala to go get everyone a late dinner.

Erin and Dean hauled the bags to the room and went through the usual process of checking the room for anything supernatural and putting up wards and salt lines. When they had finished, Dean sat down on the small loveseat in the room and tried to get comfortable.

"What are you doing?" Erin asked as she unpacked some pajamas from her bag as well as her toiletry pouch. Dean leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Just getting used to my spot for the night," he answered.

Erin frowned at him knowing that the loveseat was way too small for someone Dean's size to be comfortable.

"Why don't you take the bed this time?" she suggested. Dean opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I couldn't ask you to do that. What kind of man would I be if I let the lady sleep on the couch?" he replied. Erin rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Dean, I've slept in worse conditions than a musty motel couch. I'm not a delicate flower of a woman that has to have everything just perfect," she pointed out.

"But—" Dean started to protest, but was cut off by her holding up her hand.

"If it bothers you so much to let me sleep on the couch, why don't we just share the damn bed?" she asked.

Dean's eyes widened and his ears turned pink. He tried to come up with a response, but all he could was stammer. Finally, he managed to regain enough composure to speak.

"Aren't you worried about what I might do?" he asked. Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Like what? Steal my virtue," she snorted again, "that ship sailed a _long_ time ago."

"Well…no…not that. But what about the mark? You said you wouldn't trust me until we were sure I was cured," Dean pointed out.

Erin's face grew serious. She set her stuff down and came to sit next to the Winchester, staring at him intently. He thought she was going to say something deep, but instead all she said was: "I'm a light sleeper," before going to the bathroom to change into pajamas and brush her teeth. Dean gulped, making a mental note not to get too close to her while she slept.

Ten minutes passed and Erin was still not out of the bathroom yet. Dean listened carefully, but he didn't hear the shower or the sink. He sat up, concerned, wondering if he should check on her. He decided to wait a few more minutes, but began to worry when she still didn't emerge. He got up and crossed the room to the bathroom door as quietly as possible. He placed his ear against the door and listened. It was then that he heard Erin talking quietly. It sounded like she was carrying on a rather tense conversation, but he heard no other voices.

* * *

Erin unzipped her toiletry bag and retrieved her toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, and facial cleanser. She flossed her teeth, then wet her toothbrush and covered it in toothpaste and began brushing. She spat into the sink and rinsed away the toothpaste/spit mix, then warmed the water and splashed it on her face. When she stood upright again, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a familiar smell filled the room. Erin froze. She had not smelled that mixture of spearmint, black licorice, and cigarette smoke in about five years. An icy chill trickled down her spine. Reluctantly, she looked in the mirror, and immediately wished she hadn't.

Standing behind her, wearing his trademark smirk, was Brendan—the demon lover she thought she had killed. She gasped and spun around, hoping that she was just hallucinating. To her disappointment, he was still standing there, less than a foot away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. She grasped the silver leaf that hung around her neck, her hands shaking.

"Don't bother. It won't do you any good," Brendan said in his gravelly voice.

Erin tried to say "why" but she couldn't make any sound come out of her mouth. The demon standing before her smirked even more.

"Because I'm incorporeal. See?" To prove his point, he reached out to touch her, sending a cold chill down her back when his hand went right through her.

"I…I killed you!" Erin exclaimed in a whisper.

"Yeah, you did. Rather rude of you too," Brendan replied with a snarky tone. Erin swallowed hard, his presence wrenching her heart.

"How?" she said softly.

"You haven't figured it out yet? Who do you think sent those Bringers after you?" Brendan answered, gesturing to himself.

"You?" Erin said breathily. The demon smiled.

"Bingo!"

"Why?" Erin asked, finding her voice a bit.

"Why do you think? You're the key, the saviour," Brendan said, making the air quotes sign with his fingers. "You're about as useful as a screen door in a submarine, but that doesn't change the fact that you have power. And I can't let you get in my way."

Erin managed to get a grip on herself at last and narrowed her eyes at the demon in front of her suspiciously. She had trapped Brendan in his body by carving a crude devil's trap into his skin; she had set him on fire and watched as he burned. He was dead and demons didn't come back as ghosts as far as she knew, so who the hell was this imposter in front of her who thought he could toy with her?

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and threatening.

"Yet another thing you have yet to figure out. Do I have to spell it out for you?" Brendan asked, his tone exasperated. Erin racked her brain, trying to figure out the answer. Then it hit her.

"You're the First," she said, her eyes wide with realization. Brendan/the First grinned at her.

"At your service," he said with a bow. Erin glared at him.

"What do you want?" she snarled. The First shrugged.

"World peace? No, that's not it," he paused, getting close to Erin's face, "What I want is for you to stay out of my way."

"I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request," Erin said, quoting one of her favorite movies. The fake Brendan sighed.

"I had a feeling you would say that. Very well. Just know that everything that happens from this point on is _your fault_," he said in mock resignation.

Erin clenched her fists until it hurt, wishing she could punch him through the door.

"I'll be seeing you. Later, _love_."

Erin shuddered as the First used Brendan's old pet name for her and watched as he disappeared with a wave. She stood, frozen in place, for what seemed like hours. Without a thought, she snarled and whirled around, punching the mirror with all her strength. The mirror shattered and the wall behind it cracked, much to her surprise. She felt the bones in her hand break and cried out, clutching her hand and sinking to the floor with tears rolling down her face.

And that's when the door burst open.

* * *

Dean heard Erin snarl, followed by a loud _thump_ and the sound of breaking glass and Erin crying out in pain. He decided that he'd waited long enough and tried to open the door. It was locked, but he made quick work of it with the lock pick he kept in his pocket. After a moment, the door swung open, revealing Erin, crumpled up on the floor, clutching her bleeding hand and sobbing.

"Erin!" Dean exclaimed, kneeling down in front of her. "Are you okay? What happened?" he asked, trying to get a look at her hand.

Erin kept her hand clutched to her chest as she curled up and tried to keep him from seeing her face, making things difficult. Dean felt scared; he had never seen her like this before. Something terrible _had_ to have happened to make her this upset. Cautiously, he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Erin? What happened? Please talk to me," he pleaded softly.

Erin stopped crying and relaxed her body a bit, though she still refused to look at him.

"The First…it was here," she said quietly. Dean looked at her, his brow furrowed.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"The First Evil. The evil that predates Lucifer himself. It was _here_. It spoke to me," Erin explained slowly. Dean paled and his eyes widened in horror when he remembered what Robin and Faith had said about the First during one of their few conversations.

"Did it hurt you?" he asked, checking for signs of injury besides her hand. Erin shook her head.

"Apparently it's not corporeal. All it did was talk to me," she answered.

"What did it say to you?" Dean asked. Erin sniffed and used her good hand to wipe away her tears.

"It wants me out of the way."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Out of the way? Of what?"

"I don't know. It just showed up as…someone I used to know. Told me that it wanted me to stay out of the way. When I refused he—_it_ said that I'd being seeing it soon," Erin explained.

Dean's jaw clenched as fury rose in his gut. The idea that some ancient evil had gotten past the wards and decided to screw with Erin was enough to make him taste bile.

"I won't let that happen," he said with determination. Erin looked up at him.

"What are you gonna do? How can we fight something we can't touch?" she asked pointedly. Dean sighed.

"I don't know, but we'll find a way. We _always_ find a way. Sam and I, we won't let anything happen to you," he said earnestly. Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why?"

Dean looked confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Erin shrugged.

"Why do you care so much? Sam summoned me to cure you, well it seems that I've done it. Why not just send me away so I don't put you guys in danger?" she asked. Dean held her shoulders firmly and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Listen here, you mean more to us than just a 'cure'. We don't keep you around because you're some key or saviour. We keep you around because you're part of the family now. Because we _care_ about you."

Erin stared at him, her grey eyes watering with fresh tears. Her whole life, she had never known what it was like have people she could call family. A few tears escaped down her cheeks and she cursed herself for crying in front of someone.

"Hey now, it's okay. You can cry in front of me," Dean said softly. He cupped her face and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

At this moment, he was in awe of the woman sitting in front of him. In a short time, she had been through a fair amount with him and his brother. Dean found himself learning a bit more about her every day, but in this moment he felt as though he was seeing a part of her that no one else had. Even though she was only a year younger than him, she looked so young and small as she sat in front of him, her face stained with tears.

Erin bit her lip; for the first time since Dean had met her, she looked truly afraid. Afraid to let go and let someone be there for her. He couldn't blame her. He knew what it was like to feel the sting of betrayal and loss. Finally, the walls inside her broke down and she threw her arms around him, crying into his chest. Dean held her and whispered words of comfort as she let everything out. Without thinking, he began to sing softly to her, though it wasn't because of the curse's influence this time.

He sang "Hey Jude" as he slowly rocked her and by the time he was done, she had stopped crying. He looked down at her, checking to see if she was still awake. She looked back at him and smiled softly.

"Ya know, you're actually a pretty good singer," she said. Dean felt his face heat up and laughed nervously.

"Hey, why don't you let me take a look at your hand?" he asked, changing the subject.

"There's no need," Erin replied as she scooted back and held her hand up.

It was still covered in blood, but it didn't appear to be actively bleeding anymore. Dean stood up and grabbed a washcloth. He soaked it in warm water, then knelt down and began to gently clean away the blood. Her knuckles were still raw, but they were slowly scabbing over and her bones had already begun to move back into place and knit together. Dean stared at her hand in shock, then up at the wall where she had made a sizable dent. He was speechless. Lucky—or maybe not so lucky—for him, music began to surround them and Erin began to sing quietly.

"**I didn't want you to see me cry. …I'm fine."**

Dean felt the urge to sing wrap hold of him and squeeze, forcing him to join her.

"**But I know it's a lie," **he said in song. **"This is the last night you'll spend alone. Look me in the eyes so I know you know. I'm everywhere you want me to be. The last night you'll spend alone. I'll wrap you in my arms and I won't let go. I'm everything you need me to be. … The night is so long when everything's wrong. If you give me your hand I will help you hold on. …"**

The music changed and Dean no longer felt the urge to sing, the same could not be said for Erin, however. She stood up, almost mechanically, and began to dance with the music. The curse took hold of her, making her normally clumsy self move gracefully and fluidly as a ballet dancer would.

"**Somebody shine a light. I'm frozen by the fear in me. Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me! So cut me from the line! I'm dizzy, spinning endlessly! Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me!"**

The music that flowed around them seemed to be a mix of classical, heavy rock, and dubstep. Dean had never heard anything like it before, but he found it wasn't too bad—not that he'd ever admit it. He was distracted by the wisps of smoke that began to roll off of Erin as her movements became faster and faster. And when had she changed into a white ballerina costume?

"**If I break the glass then I'll have to fly. There's no one to catch me if I take a dive. I'm scared of changing. The days stay the same. The world is spinning, but only in grey. Only…only…only…"**

Erin started to spin faster and faster until Dean could barely make out her form. The smoke began to thicken, but he was frozen in place, unsure of what to do to stop her.

"**Somebody shine a light! I'm frozen by the fear in me! Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me! So cut me from the line! I'm dizzy, spinning endlessly! Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me! Shatter me! Somebody make me feel alive and shatter me!"**

Erin's ballet shoes burst into flame and she screamed, but she couldn't make herself stop. She thought she would surely burn to death when Dean suddenly reached out and pulled her into a kiss. She froze in shock, but slowly began to reciprocate. She reached her hand up to tangle her fingers in his hair, when the sound of slow clapping interrupted them. The pair froze and broke apart to see who was intruding only to see a tall creature with red skin and a prominent chin, wearing a red, silk, zoot suit, sitting in one of the chairs at the small table just a few feet from them.

Dean stepped away from Erin and drew a knife from his pocket, though his other hand never let go of hers.

"Good show! I just love sappy moments! Though I usually prefer them to have a bit more…_fireworks_," the creature said with a grin.

"Who are you and how the hell did you get in here?" Dean growled.

Erin rolled her eyes at his display of protectiveness, but made no move to interfere. She was, after all, in a ballerina costume instead of her usual clothes and had no weapons on her except her silver leaf.

"Honestly, did you think someone with my level of power would be deterred by your petty wards? Please!" the creature responded. "At any rate. You can call me Sweet, official sponsor of _Supernatural: The Musical_."

Dean wanted to knock the proud look off Sweet's face, but he still had no idea just what he was dealing with.

"So _you're_ the demon who's been manipulating our lives, making us sing show tunes until we burn," he said, his voice menacing.

"The one and only," Sweet replied smugly.

"You made a _big_ mistake coming here," the older Winchester said, taking a step towards the demon.

"Oh relax, I only came to tell you that I've grown bored of this game and I'm moving on," Sweet said as he rolled his eyes.

"Do you really think I'm going to let you walk out of here?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"You seem to be under the impression that you're capable of stopping me, pretty boy," Sweet replied.

"So who summoned you?" Erin piped up from behind Dean. Sweet grinned gleefully.

"No one, I just sensed all this emotional turmoil surrounding your little group—honestly it's enough to make anyone want to write a soap opera—and I decided to have a little fun. Don't worry though, after I leave the spell will wear off in a few hours."

Dean snarled and lunged at Sweet, but was met with empty air.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, growling in frustration.

It was then that the door opened, Sam having returned with food. He paused and took in the scene before him—Erin was dressed as a ballerina and Dean looked ready to attack the next thing that came through the door. He raised an eyebrow at them.

"Does anyone wanna tell me what happened here?"


	17. Shake, Rattle, N' Roll

**The last chapter was so much fun to write, but it definitely turned out longer than expected. I thought about splitting it into two chapters, but I didn't want to break up the flow of such an intense part of the story. I hope you're all enjoying this story! Please review!**

**Once again, I ONLY OWN ERIN AND THIS FANFICTION STORY!**

**The song for the last chapter's title is "Jukebox Hero" by **_**Foreigner**_**. The songs used for the last chapter are as follows: **_Hurt _**by**_ Johnny Cash_**,**_ Breathe No More _**by**_ Evanescence_**,**_ I've Got a Theory _**(from**_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer _**episode**_ Once More with Feeling_**),**_ This is Halloween _**from**_ The Nightmare Before Christmas_**,**_ Field of Innocence _**by**_ Evanescence_**,**_ We Are One _**from**_ The Lion King II_**,**_ Carry On My Wayward Son _**from the musical episode of**_ Supernatural_**,**_ Hey Jude _**by**_ the Beatles_**,**_ The Last Night _**by**_ Skillet_**, and**_ Shatter Me _**by**_ Lizzy Hale _**ft.**_ Lindsey Stirling_**.**

**I couldn't think of good songs for Sam, Faith, and Robin to sing. Admittedly, I picture Sam singing "I'm a Lumberjack and I'm Okay".**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Shake, Rattle, N' Roll**

About a week had passed since Sam, Dean, and Erin had dealt with Calliope and Sweet and life had returned to normal—or at least as normal as it could be for three hunters of supernatural monsters.

Everyone was putting all their effort into researching the First Evil, but so far they had not found anything that Faith and Robin hadn't already told them. At the same time, Sam and Dean stopped getting cases. It was almost as if things had quieted down, which was more worrisome than relaxing. Erin had returned to her normal, mysterious, routine with one minor difference: she seemed to be avoiding Dean.

Sam and Castiel had no idea what had transpired between Dean and Erin, but they knew something was off almost immediately after returning to the bunker. She was rarely ever in the same room with Dean anymore, but when she was, she avoided looking at him and only spoke to him in polite, clipped sentences.

Dean had a feeling that he had scared her away by kissing her, but he dared not confront her about it, for fear of pushing her even further away. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure why he had kissed her in the first place. Why was that the first thing he did to save her from burning to death?

The thought had been on his mind since the night it happened. He tried to distract himself by washing and tuning Baby and searching for cases, but he couldn't forget the feel of her lips on his or the way she had started to kiss him back before they were interrupted by Sweet. Her lips had been warm and soft, her mouth had tasted minty, and the smell of her shampoo had filled his senses. It made his face heat up and his heart skip just thinking about it.

"Snap out of it, Dean!" he admonished himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

He tried to focus on finding another case, but his efforts were in vain. With a sigh, he allowed his thoughts to be consumed by Erin, hoping that by sorting out how he felt, he would be able to get back to the task at hand.

He went over everything he knew about her. Some things were superficial, like her apparent love for junk food and Deadpool merchandise, her age, and her mother's name; others were more significant, like her life as a slave, her past with a demon, and her ability to care so much for people, yet refuse to let anyone in.

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He really hadn't known her for very long—about a month now—and in that time they had not spent a lot of time together.

Was she attractive? _Hell yes!_ Dean thought with a smile. She was curvier and had more tattoos than the ladies he usually found himself with—though he never purposely avoided short, curvy women with tattoos—but he found those things to be quite striking. Her laugh, albeit sounding like a snorting goose, was infectious. Her sense of humor was raunchy and sarcastic and dorky. He found himself wanting to know more about her, despite his belief that he would never be able to get close to anyone because of his life as a hunter. Of course, it helped a bit that this girl _was_ a hunter.

The older Winchester sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It wouldn't matter how he felt about Erin if she refused to get close to him. He decided that the best course of action would be to go about life as usual and see what happened. Not a master plan, but the only one he had at the moment. With this in mind, he decided to take a break from researching to go clean Baby…again.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Erin found themselves on the doorstep of a large mansion, feeling quite under-dressed. Dean had found one of Bobby's old cell phones—a discovery that tugged at his heart painfully—and with it a voicemail about the passing of a woman named Bunny LaCroix wherein Bobby was named a beneficiary in her will.

Sam had agreed to a trip to Connecticut to check it out and had invited Erin to come along for the ride. Despite her reluctance at being on a twenty-two hour road trip with Dean, she agreed just for the chance to get out of Kansas for a while. Plus, Connecticut was right by Massachusetts and her desire to visit the place of her birth outweighed her desperation to avoid Dean.

So there they were, three hunters standing in front of a place that was probably worth more than Baby in just the front doorstep alone.

"Bobby must have had some interesting connections," Erin mused as she wrapped her scarf tighter around her face to shield her from the bitter November cold.

"No kidding," Dean mumbled as he pushed the doorbell.

Instead of a regular _ding-dong_ sound, Beethoven's _Fur Elise_ began to play. The brothers shared raised eyebrows while Erin only smiled. The door was answered by a maid that looked like a young Michelle Pfeiffer.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Sam Winchester and this is Dean Winchester and this is," he paused, glancing at Erin. She really didn't look like she was related to them, so he said the first thing that came to his mind: "This is Dean's wife, Erin. We're here on behalf of Bobby Singer."

Dean and Erin both started and had to quickly regain composure before they blew their cover. Each of them made mental notes to give Sam hell for it later.

"Mister Singer won't be coming?" the maid asked. The Winchester brothers grimaced a bit.

"No…he passed away," Dean said uncomfortably.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the maid replied, though her tone and expression did not change.

"Uh, condolences for your loss too," Sam said awkwardly.

"Thank you. Well you just missed the funeral, but the family's relaxing inside if you'd like to join them."

The trio nodded and followed the maid into a lavish room with a pool table, where the family members of Bunny LaCroix were socializing.

"Allow me to introduce Sam, Dean, and Erin Winchester," the maid said before taking her leave of them. A blonde woman stood up and stepped towards them.

"You mean the Westchester Winchesters?" she asked. The hunter trio shared confused glances.

"No, I don't think there's any relation," Sam said.

"No matter. You two are…_adorable_," the woman responded, aiming the last part at Sam and Dean.

Erin narrowed her eyes at the woman and slipped under Dean's arm so that he had an arm around her and her around him. If the Winchester was surprised, he hid it well. The woman seemed undeterred.

"I'm Hattie, Bunny's cousin, and this is my sister, Beverly."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Beverly said from across the room.

After the rest of the introductions were made—in which Erin almost gave a right hook to Hattie when she smacked Dean's ass—the butler requested to speak with the three of them in the hall. There, he explained to them that they did not need to stay for the reading of the will and handed them a manila envelope containing Bobby's inheritance.

Upon opening it, they were surprised to find a large cross on a chain adorned with rubies and diamonds. Dean was eager to have it appraised, so the three of them went to find a jeweler.

* * *

Upon inspection, the necklace was deemed to be encrusted with faux rubies and cubic zirconia, a rather odd thing for someone as rich as Bunny to have and even stranger for her to leave it to Bobby. It became significantly less strange, yet more mysterious, when the necklace was revealed to be an old-fashioned key. Before they left, Erin stepped up to the counter and pulled a wad of cash out of her jacket pocket.

"What do you have in the way of wedding sets?" she asked the jeweler.

Sam and Dean were surprised at the amount of money she had on her—then they caught what she said.

"Wedding sets?!" they exclaimed in unison. Erin glanced at the over her shoulder while the jeweler pulled out a few sets of wedding and engagement rings.

"If we're going to have them believing that Dean and I are married," here she paused to throw a dark glare at Sam, "we have to act the part. Good God, how did you guys survive this long?" she said, her voice snarky.

Sam looked terrified of what she might do to him later and Dean looked taken aback. One thing was for sure: Erin didn't half-ass her disguises.

Ten minutes later, the trio left the shop and headed back towards the LaCroix estate. Dean kept spinning his new ring on his finger as he drove. It fit perfectly, but it still felt cold and foreign on his hand. At least Erin had good taste; she had picked out a matching set of glossy, black, tungsten rings decorated in a silver Celtic knot design. The only difference between the two rings was that Erin's was thinner and smaller. Dean absently wondered why she had chosen those rings, but he chose to file it away for later.

* * *

It was dark when they arrived and the first thing they noticed was a police car sitting out front.

"Clearly, we missed out on all the fun," Erin said dryly as they exited the Impala. They made their way to the door, which was answered by the butler.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer. The butler grimaced.

"Not really," he answered as he stepped aside to let them in.

Once they were inside, Erin noticed that the butler's behavior seemed…_off_. Maybe it was just from whatever had transpired while they were gone, but she felt like there was something more to it than that. A bald man in a suit approached them.

"You three were here earlier?" he asked, gesturing to the trio.

"Yeah, who wants to know?" Dean asked belligerently.

Erin elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a "knock it off" glare. The man responded by flashing his badge and gun.

"Detective Howard, New Canaan PD. Congratulations, you're now officially murder suspects."

Sam, Dean, and Erin shared mutual looks of surprise.

"I'm sorry, what?" Dean asked in disbelief.

Detective Howard explained that Bunny LaCroix's brother, Stanton, had been beheaded and that his body was on the way to the morgue at the moment. Anyone who had been in the house that day was being detained for questioning. Erin smiled at him politely and practically dragged Sam and Dean into the sitting room, where the remaining family members were at each other's throats.

"I'm thirty nine," Hattie said loudly as they entered the room.

Erin snorted and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She linked arms with Dean, making sure that her "wedding" ring was on display.

"And you have been since oh-three!" Dash replied scathingly. Erin snickered.

During the arguing, Hattie revealed that Stanton's young wife, Amber, was insisting that Stanton was killed by the ghost of Bunny's late husband.

Sam suggested quietly to his brother and Erin that maybe they had a vengeful spirit on their hands. Unfortunately, with Detective Howard around, there was no way they could get to the Impala to get their equipment.

"You keep an eye on Ms. Peacock and Colonel Mustard, I'll sniff around," Dean whispered.

"Good idea. Take Erin with you, just in case you run into trouble," Sam suggested.

Erin and Dean shared a glance. The look on Erin's face suggested that she was uncomfortable being alone with Dean, but nevertheless she nodded and followed him out of the sitting room, leaving Sam to fend for himself.

Dean and Erin wandered around the mansion in awkward silence, but found nothing out of the ordinary. The silence began to wear on the older Winchester.

"Erin?" he whispered, grabbing her hand to stop her from walking. She turned to look at him questioningly.

"What?" she asked quietly, her tone one of annoyance.

"Did I do something wrong? You seem…I don't know, _mad_ at me," Dean said.

"No. You're fine, I'm fine, let's keep looking," Erin said quickly, stopping the conversation in its tracks.

Before Dean could protest, she had wandered over to a bookcase. She scrutinized the books carefully and methodically.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Looking for any sign of a secret passage. Ya know, like in the movie _Clue_? This is the perfect setup for something like that," she answered.

Dean shook his head; she definitely had her dorky habits. It was then that a certain book caught his eye—it had a very familiar cross on the spine. He took the cross necklace/key out of his pocket and held it up for comparison. Erin grinned.

"Yahtzee!" she whispered.

Dean pulled on the book and the bookcase popped open, revealing a secret door behind it. Erin suppressed the desire to say, "I told you so." Unlocking the door revealed a dark stairway. Erin pushed past Dean, eager to see where it could lead.

Dean paused at the bottom of the stairs when he noticed a bundle of rope and a lead pipe nearby. The irony was not lost on him. He snorted and grabbed both, just in case, and followed Erin.

The stairway lead to an attic that looked like it had been abandoned for years. A thick layer of dust and cobwebs covered everything in sight. Dean and Erin pulled out small flashlights and shined them around the room. The first thing they noticed was a paper plate with a half-eaten sandwich sitting on a nearby table. More searching revealed a body wrapped in a rug and a very distraught-looking blonde maid.

"Dean?" she asked, sounding relieved. Her make-up had been smeared from crying.

"Olivia?" the Winchester asked in surprise.

"Oh thank God! I thought you were _him_!" Olivia exclaimed.

"Him who?" Erin asked.

Olivia went on to explain that Phillip, the butler, had locked her in there because she wouldn't lie to Detective Howard about what she saw. When pressed for details, she reluctantly admitted to seeing Bunny's ghost kill Colette, the maid that had supposedly quit—the body rolled up in the rug.

* * *

Dean and Erin returned to the sitting room with Olivia where Sam was playing cards with Hattie and Beverly. At least things had quieted down. The younger Winchester excused himself and made his way over to his brother and Erin, who explained that they had not one, but _two_ vengeful spirits on their hands and they needed to find the butler ASAP.

The trio agreed to split up again—Dean and Erin would search upstairs while Sam searched downstairs—though Erin secretly felt that splitting up the party might end badly. Unfortunately, they needed to get things done quickly and the house was rather large.

It didn't take long for Dean and Erin to find Phillip. Dean grabbed a nearby wrench as they approached him. If the moment hadn't been so serious, Erin would have squealed with delight. As soon as they neared the butler, however, the hairs on her neck stood on end and her stomach churned; something was _wrong_ and it wasn't just the butler's alibi.

Dean's phone buzzed. Erin kept her eyes on Phillip while Dean turned around to check the message. Before he had the chance to turn around, Erin screamed as she went flying through the air, having been thrown by Phillip. She cracked her head on the wall and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Dean whipped around and was also thrown across the room. As he gasped for air, he heard a wet sound that he couldn't quite place. He looked up and saw that the butler had shed his skin and disappeared. He stumbled to his feet and ran over to Erin to make sure she was alive. When he felt her pulse thrumming strongly under his fingertips he sighed in relief and went off to chase the shifter.

* * *

An ear-shattering scream roused Erin from her unconsciousness. She groaned and put a hand to her head, desperately wishing she had some painkillers. She opened her eyes, waiting a moment for her vision to clear, and looked around. Dean was gone and something was lying on the ground in the butler's kitchen. Upon further inspection, it appeared to be the butler's skin.

"Shapeshifter. Ew," she muttered to herself.

She wandered through the mansion, trying to find the source of the scream, and found everyone gathered in a bathroom, surrounding the body of Detective Howard, who had been drowned in the toilet. She wrinkled her nose at the scene.

"Looks like I missed all the fun again," she said dryly, getting everyone's attention. Dean whipped around, closed the distance between them, and hugged her tightly, pretending to be the worried husband.

"The butler is dead," he whispered in her ear. His breath sent shivers down her spine, but she did her best to ignore them. "And it's not vengeful spirits it's—"

"Shapeshifters. I saw the skin," Erin whispered back. "Has everyone here been cleared?" she asked.

"Yep," Dean replied.

"Damn. So what now?" Erin asked.

"We play it by ear," Dean whispered, pulling away from her and turning back towards everyone else.

Erin unclasped her silver leaf necklace and flicked it open, revealing the three inch knife it hid. Dean raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's real silver. I like to cover all my bases," she explained quietly. Dean nodded in understanding. Clearly, he was _still_ underestimating her.

Things went awry when Dash grabbed the detective's gun and forced the trio into a room, which he promptly locked. Erin had briefly considered overpowering him, since a bullet wouldn't stop her for long, but then thought better of it. The _last_ thing she needed to explain was her knack for surviving fatal injuries.

"Made in Taiwan! Stainless steel!" Dean shouted.

Sam and Erin turned to look at him and saw that his knife had bent, probably from trying to open the door with it.

"Great! So the only silver we have on us is my knife and I don't see how this little thing is gonna kill a shifter," Erin said, throwing up her hands.

"We have silver bullets in the trunk," Sam said.

"Well that doesn't exactly do us any good right now, does it?" Erin snarked.

As Sam was searching through a desk, something on one of the security cameras caught his eye.

"Guys, you gotta see this!" he exclaimed.

Dean and Erin huddled in front of the screens, one of which revealed the family in the sitting room, being held at gunpoint by Olivia.

"We got played by the maid," Dean said.

The boys tried repeatedly to break down the doors, to no avail. Another thorough search of the room revealed a gun safe and keys. Sam used one of the handguns to shoot the door open.

"Quickly! Someone probably heard that," Erin said as they rushed out of the room.

* * *

Erin followed the sound of gunshots, leading her to the kitchen. As she got closer, she could hear the maid ranting. Suddenly, all was quiet.

"Why haven't you taken a shot?" Olivia asked quietly. "Oh…you don't have any silver bullets do you?" realization in her voice.

Suddenly, another shot fired. Erin rushed into the kitchen, afraid of what she would find. She saw Sam on the ground, the shifter dead in front of him, and Dean by the other doorway with a gun in his hands, looking downright murderous. The older Winchester emptied the clip into the shifter, oblivious to the stares coming from the other two.

Erin felt a sinking feeling in her gut.

* * *

"Dean…what was that all about back there?" Sam asked as they drove away from the LaCroix estate.

"What do you mean?" his brother asked.

"All those…extra shots…_after_ the shifter was already dead…what was that?" Sam clarified.

"I don't know. Target practice?" Dean answered with a shrug.

Erin sat in the back, pretending to be asleep so she could eavesdrop on the conversation. His cavalier attitude towards the subject had her worried. The older Winchester became testy when Sam suggested that it could have been left over demonic energy. Deciding that the conversation was over, Dean turned on the radio and turned it up as loud as he could stand it.


	18. Somebody Save Me

**As you may have guessed, I'm probably not going to introduce Cole into the story—but who knows. I will, however, start introducing more Buffy characters **_**soon**_**. Enjoy! Please Review!**

**The song for the last chapter title is "Shake, Rattle, N' Roll" by **_**Billy Haley and the Comets**_**. I chose this song for the title because it plays at the end of the 1985 movie **_**Clue**_**.**

**I ONLY OWN ERIN AND THIS STORY!**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Somebody Save Me**

Erin pushed aside the curtain that was being used as a makeshift door to her room and shuffled towards the bed. As she did so, she shrugged out of her leather jacket and kicked off her combat boots. This evening had been the cherry on top of a crappy couple of weeks. As she grabbed her towel and toiletry bag, she thought back to the events that had transpired over the past fortnight. …

* * *

After the case in Connecticut, the trio of hunters made a detour to Massachusetts before heading back to the bunker. The purpose for the extra trip was so Erin could see the orphanage she was left at when she was born. It wasn't much; dilapidated and long since abandoned and condemned. The trip didn't elicit as much of an emotional response as she had hoped it would.

The first couple of days back at the bunker had been quiet—_too_ quiet. Despite their vigilant researching, there were no cases to be found. Erin went back to her normal routine of working out, researching the First and its Bringers, and working a regular job at night.

She had yet to tell anyone about her night job and she did not have any plans to do so. She had spent about sixteen years working on the side to earn money; it was much easier than credit card fraud and it gave her something to do besides hunting.

Occasionally, she would pick up cases while working. It never occurred to her to tell anyone about her jobs—as she had lived on her own for so long—and it wasn't really anyone else's business anyway. She also didn't feel like receiving any sort of judgment for her chosen profession.

When the boys finally _did_ find a case it was because a girl Dean was hooking up with turned out to be involved with a demon that kidnapped women and forced them in to prostitution so he could collect souls. Erin had declined the invitation to accompany them on _that_ particular case. In truth, she had found herself feeling irritated that Dean had a profile on a dating site; the fact that she was aggravated by this only served to annoy her more.

Erin decided to vent her frustration the only way she knew how: by hunting. She sat down with Faith and Robin and asked them to tell her all they knew about the First and the Bringers. This lead her to a Skype chat with an older, British man named Rupert Giles, who told her everything he and the rest of what Faith called the "Scooby Gang" had learned during their war against the aforementioned evil.

The only helpful piece of information he had been able to give was the fact that the Bringers—apparently a nickname for "Harbingers of Death"—caused the land surrounding them to become sterile and die.

Using this knowledge, Erin began to hunt down nests of Bringers in the surrounding area and destroy them. It was unnerving just how many nests had been built close to the bunker. Why had they not attacked again? Were they waiting for something? Did they know she couldn't die? All these questions and more haunted Erin's psyche every day.

She frequently found herself overwhelmed by the number of Bringers in each nest—which often resulted in her dying after she had taken them down. So far, she had been lucky enough to avoid being caught by anyone else in the bunker during her resurrections. She realized, with some dismay, that she was becoming rather blasé about dying; it was beginning to make her reckless.

Thanksgiving came and went, unacknowledged by those in the bunker, and December arrived, bringing with it freezing weather. Sam and Dean had been called to Minnesota by a friend to help with a case, leaving Faith, Robin, and Erin behind. Faith, who had been growing restless since their stay in the bunker started, began taking out vampires in the local graveyards to let off steam. Robin was content to divide his time between working out and reading the many books that the Men of Letters library had to offer.

Castiel was nowhere to be seen most of the time, despite his rapidly dwindling grace. Erin had no idea where the angel was going, but had enough on her mind to keep her from getting too curious about it.

When the boys returned from Minnesota, she could tell there was something wrong with the older of the two brothers. He looked even more exhausted than usual, with worry lines seemingly etched permanently into his face. Erin often heard him mumbling frantically in his sleep when she passed his room. She made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him.

The brothers were called away again one day while Erin was hunting; Sam had left a note on her door frame saying they'd gone to help Castiel with something and to call if she needed them. She briefly wondered what the angel had gotten himself into before taking off for work. After her shift ended, she checked her phone to find several missed calls and a voicemail from Sam.

In the voicemails he explained that Castiel had been trying to help his vessel's daughter, Claire Novak, when she had given him the slip. Sam requested her help since she was a woman, without a family, who had spent her whole life constantly on the move; he was hoping that Erin could be of some help to the girl.

That's how Erin found herself hopping on one of the motorcycles in the bunker's garage and heading to Pontiac, Illinois, ignoring speed limits and traffic lights the whole way there.

* * *

When she arrived at Sam and Dean's motel room, Erin sent up a quick prayer of thanks, to whoever was listening, for allowing her to make it to Illinois without getting caught by a cop for her reckless driving. She was greeted by Sam, who brought her up to speed on the current situation.

"Sooo…you're thinking I can help because…?" Erin asked as she sat across the small motel table from the gigantic Winchester.

"Like I said on the phone, you've spent your whole life without a family, on the move. I just figured…maybe Claire would be more receptive to you than to—"

"The people that essentially fucked up her life," Erin said, cutting Sam off. He looked sheepish as he nodded.

"Yeah…more or less."

She and Sam went to the group home Claire had been housed at, posing as a couple of detectives. Erin fidgeted anxiously the entire time they were there; after all these years, places like orphanages and group homes left a bitter taste in her mouth. The woman they spoke to _seemed_ like she genuinely cared about Claire, but Erin wasn't in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt. In her eyes, this woman was just as untrustworthy as any other stranger, maybe more so.

When the trio accompanied Castiel to the Wiener Hut, where a boy—Dustin—who knew Claire worked, Erin was surprised to see the angel violently apprehend the boy; she had never seen the angel show violence, but it was an interesting side of him to behold. When he grabbed Dustin around his neck and lifted him off the pavement, she began to get twitchy. Call her a softie, but she had a weak spot for kids.

"I'd do what he says," Dean said coolly to the boy through a mouthful of food, presumably wieners.

"Alright Cas, lighten up. He's just a dumbass kid," Erin finally said, stepping forward.

"He's eighteen," Dean corrected.

"Oh," Erin said. After a brief pause, in which she seemed to be contemplating things, she sent a glare toward the boy. "Proceed."

Sam looked surprised at her sudden change of tune; he didn't expect her to act so uncaring to someone just because of their age.

They found Claire preparing to rob a convenience store—apparently for some sketchy fella named Randy who had taken her and Dustin in and was having them steal to pay back his debt to a loan shark. Erin wanted to wring the scumbag's neck. Claire looked extremely displeased to see Castiel and even more so to see Sam and Dean. She briefly glanced at Erin questioningly.

"This is Erin," Sam said, as if that explained her presence.

Claire looked like she really didn't give a damn. Erin was ready to kick her ass, kid or not, when she pulled out the gun and pointed it at Castiel.

"That won't hurt me," the angel said.

Claire glared at him and turned the gun on the boys. Erin stepped in front of them.

"It'll hurt me, but it won't stop me, and I'm not afraid to lay your ass out, Hannah Montana," she said, her voice low and threatening.

Claire stared her down for several moments before thinking better of things and putting the gun away. Nothing they said could make her change her mind about the man who was having her steal for him and she ended up running away from them again.

The trio of hunters, and their angel, retreated to a bar to regroup. Castiel looked completely crushed.

"Give me a shot of…" the angel trailed off, not knowing anything about alcoholic drinks.

"Three whiskeys, please," Dean finished for him as they sat down.

"And a frozen, raspberry margarita for me. Sugar on the rim, please," Erin added as she shrugged off her jacket. Sam and Dean chuckled at her drink of choice.

The ensuing conversation proved to Erin, Sam, and Castiel—the latter of which was distracted by current events—that Dean was acting out of character. He was more brutally honest than usual, saying things that even Erin would think twice about. When he took off his jacket, Erin's eyes strayed to the mark on his arm. She noted, with an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach, that it looked agitated.

She was distracted when Sam and Dean started telling Castiel about their father, John Winchester. She listened with interest to the story, feeling like another piece of the Winchester puzzle had been put into place. Sam hadn't said much about their father when she met him, only that he had raised them in the hunter's life after their mom was killed by a demon, that Dean had pulled him away from college to go search for him, and that he'd died because of demons.

She had seen some important moments with him when she'd entered Dean's mind, but she still did not know much about the man. He didn't sound like the type to win any awards for his parenting, but something told Erin that he definitely loved his children—however crappy his way of showing it had been.

When they arrived at Randy's house, Erin agreed to stay outside in case Claire tried to run again. She saw Castiel looking downright murderous as he used his angel mojo to take down the front door; she made a mental note to never piss him off. She heard some crashing and screaming that sounded like a teenage girl and readied herself to go inside if things escalated further.

A few moments later, Castiel came outside with Claire, followed by Sam who had a gun trained on whoever was inside. She expected Dean to be right behind them and frowned when he wasn't. Castiel and Claire got into the back of the Impala, but Erin caught Sam on the arm as he was about to enter the front passenger's side.

"Where's Dean?!" she asked, more worry in her tone than she expected to hear.

Realization crossed Sam's face and, as if on cue, they heard sounds of male screaming and things breaking coming from inside the house. They glanced at each other and took off running toward the door. When they entered, Erin had a gun out and ready, but she quickly discovered that it wasn't needed. Dean was on his knees, covered in blood, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of Randy, the loan shark, and the rest of the goons. The salty-rust smell of fresh blood was overwhelming and she was thankful that she wasn't squeamish.

A scream snapped Dean out of his daze and he, his brother, and Erin turned to see a horrified Claire who had followed them in with Castiel.

"Get her out of here!" Erin exclaimed, pushing the angel and the girl out the door as Sam went to kneel in front of his brother.

She turned to look at the brothers, but made no move to get closer. Her stomach churned and a cold sweat trickled down her spine as she stared at Dean. He looked completely out of it as Sam begged him to say that he'd had no other choice. He refused to lie, only mumbling his responses in a dazed state.

* * *

Erin shrugged out of her clothes and stepped under the hot spray of the shower, wincing as it stung some of her still-healing injuries, her mind still reliving the events of the last few days. …

* * *

The trip back to the motel had been completely silent; Sam had driven while Dean rode shotgun, still in a stupor, and Claire sat in the back between Erin and Castiel. When they returned to the motel, Erin opted to drive to motorcycle back to the bunker, needing to distance herself from Dean.

She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that overwhelmed her after seeing him surrounded by bodies. For once, she was unsure of how to react, how to help; she was completely shell shocked. When she had returned to the bunker, she'd joined in the effort to search for a cure for the mark, while avoiding Dean even more than before. She could tell that he was hurt by her wariness of him, but she offered no words of comfort. She knew she had nothing helpful to say and felt that he deserved more than empty lies.

In searching for a cure, Erin had felt compelled to search for more information about the key and the saviour. Unfortunately, the Men of Letters had no material whatsoever on either subject and the internet was equally unhelpful. With no other option in sight, she decided to make a Skype call to Giles, hoping that he would have at least a scrap of information for her.

"Hello, Erin, to what do I owe this rather late call?" Giles had asked when he finally answered. Judging by his robe, he had been about to turn in for the night.

"I'm sorry; I keep forgetting what time it is in England. This is, however, a bit of an emergency," Erin replied, only somewhat apologetic. This caught the watcher's attention.

"What is it?" he asked, putting on his glasses.

"What do you know about keys to other dimensions?" Erin asked, chewing on her lip. Giles froze and took off his glasses to clean them.

"W-what do you mean?" he answered, stammering a bit.

Erin went on to explain about her being unable to die because of an unknown destiny she was supposed to fulfill, about there being other keys, and about the prophecy of the saviour. Giles looked rather taken aback by the slew of information she presented him. After a long silence and a mumbled, "Good Lord," the watcher told her about Dawn Summers and Glorificus.

He went on to flesh out the details of the Slayer line and how that had been altered by a spell. Unfortunately, he knew nothing of the other keys or of the prophecy Erin mentioned, but he promised to look into it and let her know if he found something. Feeling discouraged, Erin had thanked him for his help and ended the call.

* * *

With nothing else to do except wait—something she hated to do—Erin had decided to go hunting for another nest of Bringers. She'd found it with relative ease, but was shocked to discover the ridiculous amount of Bringers that it held. It explained why the nearby forests were dying; she thought it had just been due to the fact that winter had arrived.

She had managed to take out most of the Bringers when one got the jump on her. As she was fending off those in front of her, one came up behind her and slashed through her from her right shoulder to just above her navel with his knife. She had died almost instantly.

When she awoke, she was surrounded by darkness and being crushed by dirt. She had panicked and began to claw her way out, suffocating and resurrecting again before she broke through the soil. She crawled away from the crude grave and coughed up dirt and blood. When she was able to catch her breath, she began to think.

It must have taken her longer to come back, due to the severity of her injuries, which would explain why the Bringers had time to bury her. She was thankful that she hadn't been cut entirely in half or decapitated, for she wasn't exactly sure how she would survive something like that or _if_ she would at all.

Thoroughly pissed off, Erin had stalked back to the nest and dispatched the rest of the Bringers, only sustaining a few more cuts and bruises in the process, and then made her way back to the bunker. She had been relieved when everyone else was either out or asleep as she was not in the mood to explain her disheveled, bloody, dirty appearance to anyone.

* * *

With Erin's mind now on the present, she turned her attention to the arduous task of scrubbing the blood and dirt off of her body. She scrubbed until her skin was raw and red—even though it made the worst of her wounds start bleeding again—letting the sandalwood and violets smell of her shampoo fill her senses and soothe her mind.

She had never really thought about the possibility of being buried alive—in her line of work there usually wasn't enough left to be buried and she didn't have anybody to give her a hunter's funeral—but now that it had happened she knew she'd be having nightmares about it for a _long_ time. Suffocating while digging out of her own grave was, hands down, the worst thing she had ever experienced and it was going to take a lot of alcohol if she ever hoped to sleep that night.

She tried to scrub the blood and dirt from her hair, but only succeeded in tangling it more. With resignation, she exited the shower and came back with one of her knives. She stood in front of one of the mirrors and began hacking away at her hair with determination. Erin found herself suddenly thankful that she had watched videos and read books about hair styling; honestly, there were not many subjects she had _not_ read about. She had a lust for learning that almost rivaled Giles'.

By the time she was done she had managed to style her hair into a decent diagonal forward cut with the longest part hanging an inch passed her chin and the shortest part barely covering her neck. She smiled proudly at her handiwork and finished her shower, finally able to detangle and clean her hair properly.

* * *

Dean sat at the island in the kitchen, nursing a glass of whiskey. Nightmares of what he had done had plagued his sleep and he decided he wasn't going to get any rest tonight. He heard someone padding down the hallway, interrupting his thoughts, and looked up as Erin entered the room, looking exhausted, her hair still damp from her shower.

_Her hair!_Dean's eyes widened as he took in her shorter haircut. The new style made her look closer to her age and made her cheekbones and jawline appear sharper. He nodded in approval when Erin was busy pouring herself a drink; he thought she looked quite sexy with her new look, especially while she was standing there wearing her Marvel pajamas. She certainly looked closer to her age.

Dean took another sip of his drink as he watched her down hers in one gulp. It was then that he realized she was also drinking whiskey. His brow furrowed—Erin never drank hard liquor, preferring much sweeter, and usually fruitier, drinks. He began to notice other things about her that he had missed at first glance. She was littered with bruises and cuts, all of which were already healing, and she moved like she was stiff and sore all over.

Erin plopped down on the stool across from him and nursed her second drink, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

"Erin?" Dean asked cautiously. The woman in question looked up at him, seeming to see him for the first time. "Are you alright?"

"Depends on your definition of 'alright' I suppose," she answered, her voice a bit hoarse.

She took another drink and wrinkled her nose in disgust, causing Dean to chuckle internally at the sight.

"Well no offense, but you look like you've been worked over pretty hard," the older Winchester said, trying to sound joking.

"I _feel_ like I've been worked over pretty hard," Erin replied. There was no sign of humor in her tone.

Dean frowned. Something about her was off and he couldn't figure out what. It occurred to him that this was the first time in days that she _wasn't_ avoiding him.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, figuring he was probably the last person she wanted to see. Erin shook her head.

"Nah, you're good," she said, taking another sip and grimacing as the liquid burned her throat.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

The tone in his voice must have betrayed his thoughts, because she looked up at him, her brow furrowed questioningly. After a moment of studying him, she seemed to realize something and sighed.

"Look…Dean…" Another sigh. "I know I've been avoiding you lately. Try not to take it personally okay? S' just…until we find a way to deal with that mark—"

"No, no, I get it," Dean said, cutting her off. "I'm a stone cold killer. I'd avoid me too."

Erin's visage softened and she reached across the table, placing a hand over his free one, a gesture which surprised him. She had touched his hand before, but not since their kiss and most _certainly_ not since his killing spree.

"You're not a killer, Dean. You're just…_sick_, for lack of a better term. You're not yourself right now and it's better that we all be on guard," she said. Dean snorted.

"You don't know the things I've done _without_ being under the influence of the mark," he said. Erin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I can remember a few things."

Dean looked at her questioningly, to which she responded, "Mind-meld, remember?"

"Oh…right," he muttered.

"Dean, not a single damn person in this world is completely black or white. We're all shades of grey, some of us darker than others. You _have_ to stop being so damn hard on yourself," Erin insisted.

"I've done things that would make you look innocent," Dean said pointedly. Erin raised an eyebrow at him again.

"When my first—and only ever—lover ended up being possessed by a demon I bound the monster in his body and set the motel room on fire. I just believed the demon when he said Brendan wasn't in there anymore and I left him for dead."

Dean stared at her in surprise—she had never gone quite so in depth about her past with a demon.

"We've been over this before, remember? We're not here to compare sins, Dean. We all do shitty things from time to time. Does that make it okay? No. But if we spend all our time regretting, we won't be able to do better in the future," she finished.

"Do you ever feel guilty about it?" Dean asked. Erin shrugged.

"I _try_ not to think about it," she answered. Dean looked disappointed by her answer.

"But…the nightmares are real enough," Erin added, her tone changing to one of defeat and sadness.

The older Winchester's frowned deepened. He had never really seen her look this way before; she was haunted by what had happened, whether she admitted to it or not. He thought about what she had told him and his jaw clenched. She had let someone in and been betrayed for it. He gripped his glass a little tighter.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked hesitantly.

Erin looked up at him. She seemed to mull something over in her head for a moment before nodding in consent.

"What did that asshole do to you?" Dean asked.

Erin closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, looking as if she was suppressing something. When she looked at him again, her grey eyes were cold and anger lurked under the surface of her expression.

"Besides being a demon that had me believing my love was fine and dandy?" she asked derisively. "He used to send me on hunts. Usually didn't tell me what kind of monster I was dealing with, only that it was deadly and needed to be put down. Generally told me that the thing(s) I was hunting could pass as human. I trusted him, so I followed his orders without question.

"After all, who was _I_ to question a more experienced hunter? I had spent most of my life in an alternate dimension as a slave. I had nobody else in this world and I trusted no one. This man had saved my life and taught me everything I knew about being a hunter. He was…_significantly_ older than me, but I didn't care. I hadn't exactly been raised to give a shit about social norms," Erin paused and took a swig of her drink, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Anyways, I didn't question him. I killed everyone he asked me to and never thought anything of it."

"What changed?" Dean asked, still gripping his glass tightly.

"One day I came back to our motel room after finishing a hunt and found a blonde woman sitting on the bed. I was confused, seeing as we never interacted with other people and we _certainly_ didn't bring them back to our rooms. I was about ready to interrogate the bitch when Brendan came out of the bathroom without any clothes on," Erin said, pausing to swallow hard and take a deep breath.

Dean looked properly disgusted by the implications that her story held.

"Lucky for him, I was too shocked to move or else I would've started beating his ass right then and there. As it was, he had time to explain to me that the woman was Lilith and that all the missions I had been sent on were to kill people that would get in the way of the impending apocalypse. Every single person I'd killed had been _innocent_.

"Lilith appraised me like I was some slinky dress in a mall window and asked me if I would be her meat suit and help her start the apocalypse. Apparently her current body wasn't good enough or something. Demons don't _have_ to ask, so I don't know why she didn't just take what she wanted, but I'm lucky she decided to be polite that day. When I think about it now, she seemed…uncomfortable…like she _did_ have to ask permission; like she was unable to possess me otherwise."

"What did you do?" Dean asked, looking appalled.

"I turned around and ran the fuck away. And I kept running. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to be taking no for an answer. I tried to go into hiding, but Brendan found me. The bastard sent hellhounds after me." Erin paused and finished off her whiskey.

"By then, he figured I'd never agree to give Lilith what she wanted. He was under instruction to coerce me into saying yes or kill me—either way he was getting the demonic equivalent of a promotion. He watched me try to crawl away as the hounds started to tear into my flesh. He stopped them from killing me so that he could toy with me for a while longer," she paused, taking a calming breath. When she looked up again, her eyes were glistening dangerously.

"I escaped, but only just. I decided that the only way to win was to make him believe that I was going to give him what he wanted." Erin smirked at the memories that came to her then, her eyes full of venom.

"I called him from a payphone and told him that if he wanted me to agree to the deal that he was to meet me at a motel, _sans_ hellhounds. I guess I didn't seem like much of a threat to him. Rather stupid really, considering _he_ was the one who trained me. I guess he didn't account for the fury of a woman scorned. He wasted no time in meeting me. I met him at the door wearing lingerie and lured him to the bed where I had concealed some restraints normally used for kinky stuff.

"He never saw it coming when I strapped him down. Dumbass never checked for the devil's trap under the bed. I bound him while he screamed in rage and left him in a flaming motel room," she finished, her smirk suddenly replaced with a dark look.

Dean's whole body was tense and he had the urge to beat someone to death. If Erin hadn't already killed the bastard he would have gone out looking for him until he found him and slaughtered him. Not only had he betrayed her, but he'd been responsible for the deaths of innocent people _and_ he had worked with Lilith.

Rage swelled up inside Dean to the point where he felt like he was going to explode if he didn't do something. He didn't even notice how hard he was clenching his glass until it shattered in his hand.

* * *

Erin jumped in surprise when Dean's glass shattered in his hand, sending glass flying everywhere. He sat across from her, practically panting with rage, his face red and his veins bulging in his arms. She briefly wondered if he was going to give himself an aneurysm before she looked down at his hand and saw that it was bleeding.

"Dean!? What the fuck!?" she exclaimed as she hopped down off the bar stool and moved around to his side of the island.

"I'm fine," Dean growled.

"No, you're _not_," Erin argued as she grabbed his bleeding hand.

Without a word, she began gently the plucking the glass out of his skin and placing the shards on the island to clean up later. Dean was smart enough not to fight her. When she was done, she surveyed the damage.

"Stay put, I'll be right back," she said, jogging out of the room, careful to avoid any glass on the floor.

After a few minutes she was back, holding a tiny bottle in her hand. She went to the sink and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it down and returning to Dean's side.

"What is that?" Dean asked, his voice still low and filled with anger.

"Superglue. Best damn emergency stitches you can get. This might sting a little," Erin answered with a small grin.

She cleaned the blood and glass dust from his hand and then began the process of closing up the cuts with the superglue. Dean hissed as the liquid stung and nearly yanked his hand away, then thought better of it. He didn't want to accidentally glue his hand shut.

"There, you're good to go now," Erin said when she had finished.

Dean sat motionless, still raging internally, letting the glue dry while she cleaned up the broken glass and blood.

When everything was clean Erin turned to look at Dean and frowned. He still looked like he was ready to hulk out at any moment. The smell of blood had only seemed to make things worse. Her eyes flickered to his right arm. _The mark._ She swallowed hard, unsure of what to do and a little afraid to approach him while he was in such a state. From where she stood she could see his nostrils flare a moment before his gaze met hers. His eyes darkened and he looked like a recovering drug addict who had narcotics being dangled in front of him.

"You're bleeding," he said, his voice low.

Erin's brow furrowed in confusion; she hadn't noticed the sting before now. She moved her fingers up to the source of the pain—just above her left eyebrow—and they came away red with already congealing blood. _A shard of glass must've hit me,_ she thought. She looked back up at Dean and noticed, with dread rising in her gut, that he was staring intently at the cut on her face. Gathering her courage, she approached the raging hunter with caution.

"Dean? Are you alright?" she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

"You should go," Dean growled.

"It's the mark isn't it?" Erin asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded. "How can I help?" she asked. His eyes flickered to hers.

"You can't. Just go before something bad happens," he insisted.

Every instinct was screaming at her to listen to him and run as far away as possible but she couldn't make herself move. She knew what this man was capable of, she had experienced it firsthand. However, she couldn't help but feel that he needed someone right now. He had spent too much time trying to shoulder his burdens all on his own and it was clearly wearing on him.

Besides, she was the only person in the bunker who couldn't stay dead if she was brutally injured; this made her the ideal person for the job. But what could she do? _The mark wants flesh_, she thought. She could always provoke him into killing her to sate the mark's appetite, but that wouldn't _really_ solve the problem.

Then…an idea came to her. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. She looked up at the man in front of her with resolve, pushing her fears aside. _If it wants flesh, I'll give it some…in a different way._

Without a word, Erin reached up and grabbed his hair in her fist, pulling him to her and kissing him hard on the mouth. Dean had no opportunity to react as she continued to kiss him, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip. He moaned softly, his body relaxing a bit. Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from him, his green eyes locking with her grey ones.

"What…are you doing?" he asked, panting slightly.

Erin reached up and caressed his jaw softly, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her fingertips.

"Helping…if you'll let me," she answered, her voice low and comforting, though her stomach was churning in fear.

Dean searched her eyes, but all she had to show him was sincerity.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

Erin could see his restraint fading. Butterflies danced in her stomach, but she was determined to help him…whatever the cost.

"I am," she said, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him again.

That was all the permission Dean needed. He swept her up in his arms and carried her quickly to his room, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He set her on the bed and started kissing her roughly as his hands explored her body. Erin took a break from kissing him to shrug out of her pajama shirt and to help him out of his own clothes. Dean kissed along the inside of her thighs as he quickly removed her pajama shorts.

* * *

He stood back for a moment, taking in the sight of her naked body. Every scar…every tattoo…every stretchmark…was beautiful to him. It was evidence of a life that had been lived; proof that she had fought her way through an unkind existence and had come out stronger.

Through his adrenaline-fueled haze, Dean realized that she was being open with him in a way that she probably hadn't been with anyone in a very long time. This woman, who didn't trust anyone, was trusting him during one of his dark moments; she was being completely vulnerable for the second time since he'd met her. Briefly, he wondered why she would do something like this for him, but then Erin beckoned him closer and he lost all self-control.

He quickly undid his pants and pulled them off, tossing them in a random direction before closing the distance between them and capturing her mouth with his. Her mouth tasted like whiskey and mint and she smelled like something soft and floral, though he wasn't sure exactly what the scent was.

His hands roamed all over her body, urgently needing to caress every inch of her skin. Despite her scars, her skin was quite soft. Occasionally, his fingers would linger over a particularly textured scar, causing Erin to try to draw his attention elsewhere.

Dean had no idea how long they were tangled up in each other before they were finished and he was falling asleep with her draped over him.


	19. Welcome to My Other Side

**Sorry I haven't updated for a while; things have been rather hectic, which makes it hard for me to want to write anything. Again, I have no intention of abandoning this story—even if nobody ends up reading it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated!**

**The song for the last chapter title was "Somebody Save Me" by **_**Remy Zero**_**.**

**Again, I only own Erin and this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Welcome to My Other Side**

Dean awoke the next morning from the first restful sleep he'd had in ages. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes he was pleased to discover that he couldn't recall having a single nightmare. He smiled and sat up, stretching. He looked down at his body and frowned. Why was he naked? He never slept naked; on the off chance that he would need to act fast, he didn't want to have to take time out to put pants on. Every second counted in an emergency.

He thought back to the events that had transpired last night, fighting through the alcohol-induced haze that the memories were shrouded in. Suddenly, everything came back to him and he found himself quickly turning his gaze to the empty spot on the bed next to him. At first, he wondered if it had all been a dream, but then he caught sight of a blood-red hair, glimmering in the light, on the pillow next to him.

Dean smirked a bit, pleased that the whole encounter had really happened. His smirk was replaced by a frown. When had Erin left? He felt the pillow, only to discover that it lacked any lingering heat from her body. He looked at the digital clock on his bedside table; he hadn't overslept—it was only nine in the morning. His frown deepened as his thoughts became negative. He hoped that he hadn't done something to upset Erin without knowing it. Had he hurt her? He couldn't recall any protesting on her part.

The older Winchester brother showered and dressed quickly and made his way to the kitchen for some food before looking for Erin. As he approached the kitchen, he overheard his brother and Castiel talking, their voices grim.

"Dean has had to kill before—we both have—but that was…" his brother's voice trailed off, unable to put words to it. Dean decided now was the time to make his presence known.

"That was what?" he asked as he stepped into the room.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed softly as he looked towards his brother in surprise, his visage guilty.

"That was a massacre is what that was," Dean finished, stepping towards his younger brother his face somber. He looked back and forth between Sam and Castiel; nobody wanted to agree with him out loud.

"There was a time I was a hunter, not a stone cold killer," Dean said. His brother looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You can say it. You're not wrong." His voice began to sound desperate.

"I crossed a line. This thing…it's gotta go," he said, rolling up his right sleeve to reveal the angry, red mark.

"That won't be easy," Castiel pointed out in his usual gravelly tone.

"Then burn it off! Cut it off!" Dean exclaimed angrily.

"It's more than just a physical thing; it'll take a very powerful force to remove the effect," the angel explained.

"Dean…we've been through all the lore. There's nothing," Sam said.

"Well now this is something I thought I'd never see," Erin's voice said from the doorway.

Everyone turned to see the woman in question leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed and her face serious.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Erin pushed off of the door frame and stepped further into the room until she was between Sam and Dean.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Sam Winchester would give up on his brother," she clarified, her tone sharp.

"I never said I was giving up," Sam said defensively.

"Sure as hell sounds like it," Erin argued. "We haven't searched _everywhere_. There has to be something we're still missing. And I'll be damned if we're just gonna give up without exhausting _every possible option_. You both owe it to Dean to work your asses off and find a solution. He's sacrificed everything for you! He only has the damn mark because he took it to defeat that Transformer-wanna-be angel, Metatron." Erin stared up at Sam, unblinking, until he had to look away. Her eyes sliced through him, daring him to argue with her.

"We know," Sam said quietly.

"This reaches back to the time of creation. It may even predate the lore. We have the demon tablet, _maybe_," Castiel said.

"I thought you said it was missing?" Sam asked.

"It is," the angel answered.

"Then we keep looking," Erin insisted, her tone unwavering.

Dean couldn't understand why she was fighting so hard for him; he didn't deserve it.

After a moment of silence Castiel looked up. "There may be another way."

"Then get out of this fucking kitchen and go find it!" Erin growled.

The three boys looked taken aback by her attitude. Nevertheless, Sam and Castiel left the room. Once they were gone, Erin sighed and her visage became exhausted. She shuffled over to some cabinets and began making a pot of tea. Dean sat down at the table, watching her every move. Besides her apparent exhaustion, nothing seemed off about her; she barely seemed to notice he was there. Erin sat down and waited for the water to boil, resting her head in her hands.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked tentatively. Erin looked up at him and for the first time he noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good," she answered quietly, not trying to sound at all convincing.

Dean frowned, but remained silent. He wanted to ask her if he had done something wrong last night, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. If he pushed the subject too much, he could upset her, which could cause her to close herself off or lash out at him. He wasn't sure which one was more likely. He scratched his head, feeling awkward as they sat there in silence. After a few minutes, the teapot whistled and Erin got up to turn off the stove.

"So…" Dean began as he watched her pour the steaming water into a mug with a teabag and proceed to add three generous spoonfuls of raw cane sugar to the water.

"About last night…" Dean trailed off as Erin sat back down. She didn't look at him as she stirred the water in her mug.

"What about it?" she asked, her voice even.

"Well…you weren't there when I woke up so I thought…_maybe_…I did something wrong," Dean answered awkwardly. Erin sighed and stopped stirring her tea to look up at him.

"It has nothing to do with you, Dean. I just…I've slept alone for most of my life. I haven't invited anyone into my bed since…"

"Since Brendan," Dean finished for her. She nodded.

"I sleep alone. Plain and simple. It's nothing personal. Last night…was great…but it didn't mean anything," Erin explained. Her last comment stung more than Dean would care to admit and he wasn't sure why. "You needed something to help you let off steam and I provided you with that outlet."

"I understand," Dean said, keeping his tone neutral.

"Don't get me wrong," Erin added, "you were amazing in the sack! I'm just not capable of having a relationship with anyone. It involves more trust than I have to give. And right now, the fewer distractions I have, the better. You get what I'm saying?"

Dean nodded, trying not to appear sullen. "Yeah…I do."

* * *

As Erin waited in the back of the car, she thought back to her night with Dean. In truth, it had affected her more than she'd ever let on. She had purposely avoided being intimate with anyone since Brendan, which was easy considering she didn't have anyone she was close to and loathed the thought of shagging any of the men she met while working.

She knew she was probably in over her head, trying to sate the mark's bloodlust with another kind of lust, but it had been the only thing she thought would help keep Dean from spiraling out of control that night. She had seen the regret in his eyes and she knew that every time he slipped up he would berate himself for it relentlessly.

Things changed, however, when the act of being intimate with him actually happened. She had expected him to be aggressive and rough, consumed with raw need and desire, but she was entirely wrong. Dean had been an amazing partner, putting her physical and emotional needs before his own. Every time he looked at her he seemed to be asking for permission to touch her or gauging her reactions to something he did.

Erin couldn't remember ever having such amazing sex before. To her surprise, it stirred emotions within her that she didn't think she was capable of feeling anymore—and it scared the hell out of her. She told convince herself that it was merely the oxytocin boost clouding her judgment. In her mind, getting attached to someone meant you were giving them total power over you. They could hurt you, either by malicious acts or by dying or leaving.

It did not take long for Dean to fall asleep after the deed was done and the fact that he had fallen asleep with his arms around her was not lost on her. Erin had wasted no time freeing herself from his hold and sneaking back to her own room. Unfortunately, she didn't end up getting more than an hour or so of sleep due to her nightmares; she had resorted to spending the night watching shows on Netflix.

Despite her exhaustion, she had still agreed to accompany Sam and Castiel on their mission to obtain Metatron from Heaven to question him about the mark. Currently, the two hunters were waiting in the car while Castiel waited for his contact to bring out the former scribe of God.

Finally, the door to Heaven opened—rather dramatically in Erin's opinion what with all the bright light and swirling sand from the sandbox it was located in—and Castiel's contact arrived with someone in tow. Judging by the black bag over the person's head, it was Metatron. When the other angel left, Castiel removed the bag and started tugging Metatron towards the car, saying something that Erin couldn't hear.

When Sam began to exit the car, she took that as her cue to do so as well. She made sure she had her best badass stare on as she opened the car door and walked around Sam so she could see their prisoner more clearly. Metatron was definitely not what she expected, though to be fair, she had been picturing a Decepticon with wings.

"Ah, I see. Hello, Sam. Here to kill me?" Metatron asked, his tone taunting.

The younger Winchester said nothing, content to stare at him with all the hatred he could muster. The angelic scribe's gaze then turned to Erin. He seemed to appraise her, not recognizing her in any way, before smirking.

"And I see you've brought a friend with you, and a powerful one too. Where on earth did you find her?" he asked.

Erin growled lightly at him, but she secretly wondered how Metatron could sense her power when Castiel hadn't been able to. Was it because he was the scribe of God?

"How about you leave the questions to us?" Sam asked, though his tone clearly stated it was an order, not a question.

Before Metatron could respond, Castiel was dragging him to the back of the car and shoving him in the trunk. Erin was relieved that she didn't have to sit next to the creep all the way back to the bunker.

* * *

Erin sat on a nearby table, swinging her legs like a bored child, while Sam bound Metatron to the chair in the bunker's dungeon.

"Lovely room. This is where you bring the kinky chicks, am I right?" Metatron said.

She was looking forward to watching someone beat the snot out of the angel. _I might volunteer myself if he doesn't shut up!_ she thought.

"I'll ask the questions here," Sam said, his voice even, but dark as he wrapped chains around the angel. "Your job is to provide information."

"Ah, well, information does happen to be my specialty. Got about two billion fun facts up here," Metatron replied, gesturing to his head. "Of course, whether I choose to cough one up or not is another matter."

Erin snorted at this, causing the angel to raise an eyebrow at her. She was pretty sure he would be spilling out all kinds of juicy facts by the time they were done with him.

"We need to know how to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean's arm," Sam said, moving to stand in front of Metatron. The angel in question looked quite surprised.

"What? He's back? Because of the mark?" he asked. Sam remained silent.

"So…he's a demon?" Metatron asked, though it was more of a statement.

Sam shook his head. "No."

"Okay, what then?" Metatron asked.

Erin could've sworn Sam said something about letting him ask the questions, but she said nothing.

"What did he kill a human or something?" the angel asked with a smile.

Sam didn't answer, instead crossing his arms and staring. This seemed to please Metatron.

"He's gone nuclear! Total foaming at the mouth, balls out, maniac!" the angel exclaimed, laughing. Erin clenched her jaw and her legs stopped swinging. "That's fantastic!"

"Do you know how to remove it?" Sam asked, trying to get down to business.

"Maybe, but here's the thing: you expect any help from me you keep that crazy brother of yours on a short leash," Metatron demanded.

Erin raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he thought he was in any position to make demands.

"I don't care _what_ happens to you. You _killed_ my brother," Sam said.

Metatron had no argument for once. Sam turned to look towards the door. As if on cue, Dean walked into view, his expression volatile. Erin's spine tingled as she felt the tension in the air become almost tangible. For once, the angel actually looked afraid.

* * *

The more Metatron spoke, the more Erin wanted to throat punch him back to his cell in Heaven. She wished Castiel had stuck around to help with the interrogation, but he had insisted that he needed to go check on Claire.

She had a feeling that the teenager in question would be gone by the time the angel got to the hotel room. Sam and Dean had stepped out for a moment, most likely to argue about the First Blade. Judging by their reactions, and what little information Sam had given her, it was something that needed to be kept as far away from Dean as possible.

Erin had opted to stay behind and keep an eye on the prisoner. She doubted he could escape, but she didn't want to leave anything to chance. The way he kept staring at her, however, was making her regret this decision. After many moments of trying to ignore him, she finally snapped.

"What the hell are you staring at, flyboy!?" she screamed, hopping down from the table she had been perched on and getting in his face.

"Hit a nerve did I?" the angel asked, smiling smugly.

"How about I hit some of _your_ nerves? Literally," she threatened.

"Do you really want to deprive Dean of that opportunity?" Metatron asked.

"I think he'll survive," Erin said, rolling her eyes.

"Will he? Because he didn't look so good to me. If you kill me, you won't get to hear what I know about the Mark of Cain," the angel replied smugly.

"I never said I'd kill you," Erin pointed out.

"No…but if you use your super-strength to hurt me you very well could kill me," Metatron said, continuing to look smug.

Erin leaned down, getting closer to him than she ever wanted to be.

"What do you know about me?" she asked, her voice low and menacing.

"Oh, this and that. I know power when I see it and you have more power than you seem to know what to do with," the angel answered, feigning nonchalance.

Erin narrowed her eyes at him.

"You wanna know what I think?" she asked.

"Oh, do tell!" Metatron answered with a smile.

"I think that you don't know jack shit about me _or_ the Mark of Cain. You're just trying to appear useful so we don't kill you," Erin said as she stood up straight and crossed her arms, glaring down at the angel.

"_Maybe_. But I do know one thing: if you kill me that'll upset some of the angels up in Heaven who were assigned the task of keeping me imprisoned. That wouldn't be good for any of you now would it?" Metatron responded.

"Sam and Dean have fought angels before, I'm sure they can do it again," Erin said.

"And what are you going to do? Your job is to save the damned and use the key to seal the gates of Hell, not massacre a bunch of angry angels," Metatron pointed out.

Erin froze, despite her efforts to appear unfazed. She was about to speak when her phone started going off. She retrieved it from the pocket of cut-off jean shorts and checked the number. It was Giles. Without another word to the angel in front of her, she turned and quickly exited the dungeon.

When she was pretty sure she was out of hearing range, she answered the phone.

"Hey, Giles, what's up?"

"I did some digging into that prophecy you mentioned," Giles answered.

"And?" Erin asked, urging him to continue. For a second, she thought she could hear him cleaning his glasses.

"And I need your general location. I'm going to send some reinforcements your way," Giles said.

"Reinforcements? Why?" Erin asked, the surprise she felt perfectly audible.

"Considering your role in the prophecy, I think it's safe to say that the forces of evil won't rest until they find a way to bring you to their side or destroy you."

* * *

As Erin was returning to the dungeon she was nearly knocked off her feet when Castiel and Sam came barreling past her.

"Whoa! What the hell is going on?" she asked as she regained her balance.

"We think Dean is with Metatron," Sam said over his shoulder.

Erin knew that leaving Dean alone with his murderer could end in a number of ways—all of them bad. Without another thought, she ran after the two men, hoping that Metatron wasn't already dead.

They found the dungeon door closed and locked, but no matter how much Sam pounded on it, Dean refused to answer. Through the grate at the bottom of the door they could hear him speaking to Metatron, his voice low and dangerous.

"Let me try!" Erin exclaimed, pushing past Sam.

Although he looked skeptical, he was desperate enough to try anything at this point. Erin took a deep breath and kicked the door as hard as she could. It made little more than a shallow dent. She cursed under her breath and kept trying. As she was wailing on the door, Faith and Robin rounded the corner, drawn by the sound of chaos.

"What's going on?" Robin asked, looking between Sam, Castiel, and Erin. Sam gave a short explanation as he watched Erin continue to kick the door.

"Here, let me," Faith said, gesturing for Erin to step aside.

Her daughter obliged and the slayer took up a stance and focused all her energy on getting the door open. After a moment, she kicked the door, surprised when the already existing dent was only made deeper, but no other progress was made.

"Damn…that's a strong-ass door," she mumbled.

Then something occurred to her. She turned her gaze toward Erin. Although she was red-faced and frustrated, she didn't seem to be winded or in pain, maybe she was stronger than anyone realized.

"What if we did it together?" she asked.

Erin's grey eyes looked into her brown ones and she seemed to understand what the slayer was thinking. With a silent nod, she joined Faith in front of the door.

"On three," Faith said, taking up her stance again. Erin copied her movements. "One…two…_three_!"

Both women kicked the door simultaneously and were relieved when it flew off the hinges. Sam and Castiel flew past them into the room to apprehend Dean, who was holding a silver blade to Metatron's bloody chest. Unable to congratulate themselves at the moment, Faith and Erin ran in behind them, ready to get between the hunter and the angel if need be. Sam dragged his brother away from the angel and pinned him against a shelf.

"You were killing him!" he exclaimed. Dean said nothing; he just looked away, panting with rage.

Castiel was furious and insisted that he needed to return Metatron to Heaven. Erin was certain she'd never seen the trench coat-wearing angel _that_ angry before, except when Claire was in danger. She turned her attention to Sam, who was still accosting his brother. She approached them carefully and put a hand on the younger Winchester's arm. His head whipped in her direction. She looked up at him, unflinching.

"Go. Let me handle this," she said. Sam's brow furrowed as his gaze turned quizzical.

"Just trust me," she insisted.

Instead of arguing, Sam nodded in consent and left the room. Erin hoped that he would find something to do to cool off.

"You got this?" Faith asked from behind her.

Erin turned to look at her and Robin and nodded. Without a word, the two exited the room, leaving her and Dean alone. She turned her full attention to the man in front of her.

"So…I guess I don't have to tell you that what you just did was incredibly stupid," she said, cracking her knuckles awkwardly.

Dean made no reply as he continued to stare at the floor. She sighed and moved closer to him.

"You should stay away from me right now," Dean said quietly.

Erin paused and her gaze softened. She understood why he had tortured Metatron; the man was angry and desperate—two things that made a bad combination. Even so, she could not fault him for feeling that way. He was spiraling out of control and they were running out of places to look for information on removing the mark.

In truth, what he had done was not unlike what she'd done to Brendan when she learned of his betrayal. Erin knew that, had she been murdered and brought back as a demon, she would have wasted no time in exacting her vengeance on the person responsible. Maybe it was wrong to feel that way, but then she had never claimed to be a saint.

"I'm not afraid," she said softly, moving closer to the man in question.

"You should be," Dean said. Erin couldn't help the small eye roll that escaped her.

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?" she asked sarcastically.

"It could happen," Dean replied. "I've done it before."

"I think you're forgetting that I can't stay dead. Not until my so-called 'job' is done anyway. Whatever the hell that means," Erin said, mumbling the last part.

"Do you think that means killing you won't affect me?" Dean asked sharply, his eyes flashing to meet hers.

Erin was surprised, not only by his statement, but by the emotions she saw in his gaze. She suddenly felt uncomfortable standing in front of him. Maybe getting physical with him had caused more bad than good. Still, she managed to keep a straight face.

"I don't see why it should bother you when you know I'll just come right back," she said evenly.

She knew she was playing dumb, but she had no intention of admitting it. Dean snorted and shook his head.

"You really don't get it," he mumbled.

"Don't get what?" Erin asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Forget it," Dean answered.

Erin stalked closer to him and removed the blade from his hand, tossing it over her shoulder. It landed with a unique clinking sound that she had never heard from any other metal and she made a mental note to ask about it later.

Just as she was about to insist that he tell her what he meant, his phone started going off. Dean pushed off of the shelf and looked to see who it was. When he saw Claire's name on the screen, he left the room to answer it, leaving Erin alone with her thoughts.

* * *

"I swear to God I'll rip that bitch apart as soon as I find her!" Erin screamed.

Dean flinched as the little woman unleashed a torrent of rage that could probably be heard throughout the entire bunker.

The older Winchester brother had returned home mere moments ago from meeting up with Claire. What he thought had been an effort to connect had really been a trap to have her new deadbeat "friends" kill him. Needless to say it failed. The fact that he had returned unscathed was not enough to calm Erin, however.

She had been pacing in the map room when he had come down the stairs. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that she'd been waiting for him, for she looked worried when he entered the room; Erin would neither confirm nor deny his suspicions. She had, however, asked how things had gone with Claire. The moment the Winchester had finished explaining what had happened, she erupted like a volcano in a bad natural disaster movie. She was quite irate as she stalked around the room with her fingers curled like claws; it looked as if she was searching for something to rip apart since the teenager in question was not present.

"Calm down, she's just a kid," Dean said, his voice tired. It had been a very long day.

"I don't give a two-cent, STD-infected _fuck_!" Erin exclaimed.

The Winchester raised his eyebrow at her choice of words, though he was careful to hide his amusement. He'd hate for her to turn her wrath on him.

"She's _damn_ well old enough to know the consequences of her actions! She tried to have you _killed_! Even if she didn't succeed, someone else could have gotten hurt and then you would have ended up brooding for another month!"

Dean held his hands up in surrender and resigned himself to staying quiet until Erin had calmed herself. He almost snickered when she snorted like an angry bull as she paced back and for. He briefly wondered if she would start foaming at the mouth. After about ten minutes of watching her walk the same path over and over, only a few hot embers seemed to be left of her burning rage. She slowed her pacing to a stop and exhaled loudly. She turned her steely gaze to him, her face dead serious.

"If I see her again, Castiel _better_ be around to protect her," she said, her voice even.

Now that she was mostly calm, Dean couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face. Apparently, this was not the reaction she was expecting, because she stared at him like he had grown a second head.

"What?" she asked.

Dean pushed himself off of the chair he had been leaning on and closed the distance between them slowly. Erin started to look more like a deer caught in headlights as he sidled up to her and put one hand on the small of her back while caressing her cheek with the other. Her breath hitched in her throat when he brought his lips close enough to hers to brush them as he spoke.

"I'm flattered that you worry about me so much," he said, his voice low and husky.

Without another word, he stepped back from her with a cheeky smirk and sauntered smugly out of the room.

After a moment of silence, in which Erin had to reboot her brain, she called after him, "I wasn't worried about _you_!"

From somewhere in the bunker, she heard the faint sound of Dean laughing.


	20. A Place in This World

**Sorry I'm so slow with the updates; I have to wait until the ideas come to me. I also lost my house and had to leave school, so things are not good right now.**

**Now don't hate me, but I'm planning on adding Dawn to the story. I promise that she will not be whiny or immature; she's grown up a lot since season 7 of Buffy and she's **_**not**_** a damsel in distress anymore either. I always thought she had a lot of potential (see what I did there?) if she would only stop getting so pissy every time Buffy didn't feel like sharing every little detail of her life. Good grief! I'm also going to introduce Willow and Angel, maybe Andrew, possibly (likely) Spike.**

**The title for the last chapter was a line taken from "Mz. Hyde" by **_**Halestorm**_**.**

**Disclaimer: Once again, I do NOT own anything Supernatural or Buffy related.**

* * *

**Chapter 19: A Place in This World**

Willow stared into the clouds through the tiny window next to her seat. She would have preferred teleportation over flying in an airplane any day, but Giles had said she should save her strength for whatever might happen when she reached Kansas; teleportation took a lot of power, especially when one was transporting more than just themselves. The redhead sighed. Doing things the slow way was almost agonizing after being used to using magic for complicated tasks.

She glanced over at the seat next to her and smiled a bit; Dawn was passed out, her head lolled to one side and her iPod earbuds in her ears. In the seats behind them sat both Spike _and_ Angel, both looking incredibly on edge being in a cramped space with no way out; it didn't help that their seats were right next to each other. Normally, sunlight would be an issue, but Willow had rigged up a spell that blocked the sun's rays from shining through the windows and harming the vampires.

Nobody had been thrilled about the idea of sending both of them on this trip as they usually fought relentlessly, but Buffy had insisted they go. When Willow had questioned her in private about her decision to send her two strongest warriors away at the same time the slayer—and now head of a sort of boarding school/training facility in England for slayers (under the guise of a school for the "gifted")—had admitted that she needed a chance to breathe, a chance to think about her life and if she wanted to pursue a relationship with either vampire. The witch had understood; things had never been easy for them when it came to love.

The redhead had promised to make Angel and Spike be on their best behavior and aside from a few harmless bouts of bickering the two had made sure to stay on her good side.

Before Willow had left the school, she enlisted the help of Dawn to place wards, barriers, and a number of other protection spells around the entire estate as well as the building itself. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she preferred to stay prepared for the worst case scenarios rather than be caught off guard.

She leaned her head back and let herself take a trip down memory lane.

After the fall of Sunnydale, the remaining potentials and Scooby Gang members had felt completely lost. Should they rest? Should they find new slayers? Should they focus on shutting down the other hellmouths? Where would they start? They were beaten, homeless, and penniless; they needed to fall back and regroup while the First was still off licking its wounds.

For a while, they rented out motels and traveled rather aimlessly, killing any supernatural creatures they happened to come across. That all changed, however, when they received a message from Angel, claiming to need help in LA with a battle of apocalyptic proportions. No one argued with Buffy when she demanded they head to his location immediately. Regardless of their history, Angel was a powerful warrior, a valuable ally, and someone Buffy's heart would always belong to.

The battle was won, but as usual, lives were lost. When the dust had settled Angel, Spike, and Illyria were the only ones left of Angel Investigations. Neither Robin nor Giles had been particularly pleased with Buffy's decision to invite the three into the fold, but both knew the consequences of stating their prejudices. Eventually, they learned to tolerate each other; to keep their eyes on the bigger picture instead of their own personal vendettas. None of them would be laughing over coffee and blood any time soon, but it was an improvement at least.

Between the money that both Angel and Giles had stored away in abundance, the Scoobies were able to start the school. It all sounded a little _X-Men_ at first, but as time went on the idea of gathering slayers in a special school sounded like something they wished they'd been able to do ages before. _Now if only Andrew and Xander would quit making Hogwarts jokes,_ Willow thought with a wry smile.

All the original Scoobies became a sort of council; a new and improved version of the extinct Watcher's Council. Giles was elected as the book keeper with Dawn working as his apprentice. In a short time, the younger woman had learned everything the former watcher had to teach her and was looking to get her hands on any new knowledge she could acquire. Eventually, she became both the history teacher _and_ the foreign (and dead) languages teacher. If there was any information that someone needed, they went to Giles and Dawn.

Buffy was a sort of principal/general and while she preferred to kick ass rather than give orders, it was a role she had settled into nicely. Occasionally, one would catch the slayer sneaking out late at night to patrol the nearest graveyards for any activity to take the edge off.

Robin Wood had been elected as vice principal and occasional hand-to-hand combat trainer. He seemed to enjoy being able to run a school again. Everyone was well aware that Faith only stuck around because of him. She chose not to take part in the school, preferring to do her own thing, but was willing to go on missions if needed.

After the school had been established, Xander decided to go off on his own for a while. Anya's death had hit him hard and he needed to get away and taste normality for a change. When he returned Buffy had put him in charge of tactical and weapons training. No one was able to figure out how his short stint as a soldier on Halloween had given him permanent knowledge of all things military, but nobody was going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Andrew chose to work in the cafeteria, preferring to cook gourmet meals rather than get involved in any more fighting. The slayers often loved to listen to him tell his stories, no matter how much he embellished them to the point of insanity. Occasionally, he would consent to filming the girls train so they could go over things more thoroughly and see what they could improve upon.

Angel and Spike both trained the girls in combat, but in separate classes. Every other day they would have lectures pertaining to things that wouldn't be found in books or watchers' journals—things such as the gory history of Angelus for example and how to think like your enemy—and the days they didn't lecture were the days they did physical training. Both of their classes were held at night either in the arena outside or in the fully-equipped gymnasium.

Occasionally, the Scoobies would receive letters or postcards from Oz. He declined the offer to join the school, but was more than willing to help out any time they needed an extra set of hands. He would usually alert them if a new slayer showed up on his radar.

Willow herself taught magical studies and was adored by her students. Not all slayers had a natural gift for the arts, but all of them would benefit from knowing what they could be up against and how to prepare for it.

Normal subjects were taught as well by very…_unique_ professors. Those inducted into the school as teachers were people (or good/reformed "monsters") who were already aware of the things that normal society feared but didn't believe existed. Nobody wanted to be forced to keep secrets from others at the school. Willow smiled as she thought of the saggy-skinned demon, Clem; he absolutely _loved_ teaching English literature. Who knew he was such a Shakespeare buff?

Once girls graduated, they were free to go wherever they wished, though some chose to stay on as teachers rather than leave.

Life finally felt normal—at least as normal as it _could_ be for the Scoobies. Their personal lives, however, was another matter _entirely_.

Dawn had dated a few times during her stint in Oxford, briefly becoming a giantess after losing her virginity to a thrice-wise. Thankfully, it didn't last horribly long. Since then, she hadn't found anyone who sparked her interests and chose to devote herself to her work. When she wasn't working, she was learning magic under Willow's tutelage; residual magic from her days as a key made her a natural at it.

Robin and Faith were together, though Faith still seemed as closed off as ever. Giles occasionally entertained lady friends, but there had been no serious relationships as far as anyone knew. Andrew never seemed interested in any of the girls and some people questioned his sexuality. Only Willow knew that the boy was asexual—and afraid of never finding someone else like him—and she had no intentions of spreading his secret around. She supposed he had come out to her because she was the only non-straight person that he felt comfortable confiding in. The redhead really wasn't sure why he felt comfortable talking to her, but she didn't ask him.

Xander seemed to lose interest in dating for a while after Anya's death and the school had a policy against students and teachers coupling up, so he spent quite a long time single. However, after a lovely blonde slayer from Norway had graduated, staying on as an anatomy/biology/sex education teacher, the two began dating each other. She was smart, funny, and almost as brutally honest about inappropriate subjects as Anya had been. She acted like a big sister to most of the students and was one of the few normal humans at the school—something Xander loved about her. They had been courting for quite some time now and everyone wondered if Xander had finally found a girl he could envision his life with. Willow desperately hoped so; she wanted to see her oldest friend find love again.

Willow's love life had come to a halt after Kennedy. The two were together for only a short time before the redhead had grown tired of the slayer's immaturity and broke it off. Kennedy left the school shortly after that. The witch had considered dating again, but no one—male or female—caught her magical eye. She knew her and Oz had both changed too much to be together again. She often thought about Tara; had she lived, Willow liked to think they'd be married by now. The redhead pushed away the thought before it could drag her into sadness. She needed to have a clear head when she reached Kansas.

The witch supposed being alone was better than being pulled in multiple directions. She felt a bit of schadenfreude when she thought about Buffy's love life; the poor slayer was in a bit of a limbo between her two vampiric ex-lovers and it was taking a toll on her sanity.

Willow knew that the choice—to choose one, the other, or neither—would never come easily to her friend. She loved both vampires in different, though equally meaningful, ways and she had proven to work well with both of them under different circumstances. While some would think Spike was the more ideal partner, since he could make love to her without turning evil, Willow knew that Buffy would probably still move heaven and earth to be able to be with Angel again. All of them had been through so much, together and apart, and all of them were different people since Sunnydale. Only one thing was certain: if the vampires didn't get over their jealousy Buffy was going to lock them in the cellar together until they made up or one of them died.

Willow was taken out of her reminiscing when she heard the announcement that they were making the descent into Kansas City International Airport. She straightened up and put her seat belt on, then turned to wake up Dawn.

"Wake up, Dawnie; we've reached the Emerald City."


End file.
